BETTER DAYS.
Reading edition
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BY LYDIA L. A. VERY.
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Was it a dream that came to me,
That men’s care-worn faces seemed to be
Clothed with a calm serenity—
A peaceful holiness;
A spirit’s voice, that said, no more
Shall the blood of man like water pour,
Staining the flowers on earth’s green floor,
That fain his path would bless?
Was it a vision of the night,
Making each child seem an angel bright,
Free from earth’s mildew, ain’s withering blight
That falls upon the young;
Graceful and winning everywhere,
Grown like the flowers by God’s own care,
Like them blooming as fresh and fair,
Earth’s hills and vales among?
Was it a dream, that men did feel
Themselves as brothers for wo or weal,
Seeking the wounds of life to heal
With soothing words of love;
Speaking to each as on he wends
Grasping in every hand a friend’s,
Smoothing the path of Age that tends
So tremblingly above?
Was it a dream, that woman’s lot
Was with unkindness never fraught;
That her affections ne’er were sought
To be as worthless spurned?
No dream! but ’twas a glimpse of years
Whose coming bright as the man appears,
Drying the dew of earthly tears
From eyes like flowers upturned.
The aged feel its cheering ray,
Though, like pale stars at the break of day,
Its glory comes as they pass away
Into a realm untrod!
But may the young live to behold
Those golden days so long foretold,
When each lone wand’rer to the fold
Shall be reclaimed by God!