TO A POET ON HIS BIRTHDAY,

O singer, musical and strong, Why should a faint and faltering line Seek through the happy realms of song To celebrate thy voice divine? The tribute bears its own reply, And speaks for many a voiceless one, Of hearts disburdened of a sigh Wherever thy brave accents run; And blessing brings for youthful hours, When maidens dreamed their early dreams, And boys awakened, crowned with flowers, Plucked walking by thy sunlit streams; For all of Nature's pictured calm, The children's hour, the fireside scene, For our frail lives' undying psalm, And wandering sweet Evangeline; Praises for all; yet first for thee, O lover with the kindling eye! Quick to discern the minstrelsy Where planets sway and star-fires die. O prophet of a nobler world! Thy song shall cheer the hill and plain, Till sunset's glowing wings are furled On faded joys and vanished pain.