AT ANCHOR.K

Ah, many a year ago, dear wife, We floated down this river, Where the hoar willows on its brink Alternate wave and shiver; With careless glance we viewed askance The kingfisher at quest, And scarce would heed the reed-wren near, Who sang beside her nest; Nor dreamed that e’er our boat would be Thus anchored and at rest, Dear love, Thus anchored, and at rest! O, many a time the wren has built Where those green shadows quiver, And many a time the hawthorn shed Its blossoms on the river, Since that sweet noon of sultry June, When I my love confessed, While with the tide our boat did glide Adown the stream’s smooth breast, Whereon our little shallop lies Now anchored, and at rest, Dear love, Now anchored, and at rest! The waters still to ocean run, Their tribute to deliver, And still the hawthorns bud and bloom Above the dusky river. Still sings the wren,—the water-hen Still skims the ripple’s crest; The sun—as bright as on that night— Sinks slowly down the west; But now our tiny craft is moored, Safe anchored and at rest, Dear love, Safe anchored, and at rest! For this sweet calm of after-days We thank the bounteous Giver, Who bids our life flow smoothly on As this delicious river. A world—our own—has round us grown, Wherein we twain are blest; Our child’s first words than songs of birds More music have expressed; And all our centred happiness Is anchored, and at rest, Dear love, Is anchored, and at rest!