AN OLD MAN’S DREAM.
BESIDE a flowing stream an aged man
Reclined: all gently breathed the summer breeze
O’er his pale cheek – beneath the river ran –
And overhead there waved the shady trees.
The old man slumbered. Once again he saw
His native home, with all its stream and grove,
His aged mother by the cottage door,
And she who first inspired his early love.
‘Tis Sunday morn, and swiftly on his ear
There falls the music of the sweet church bell;
Soft, gentle music, calming every fear
With solemn sounds, with an entrancing spell.
The old man kneels beneath the sacred wall,
Where in his early years he knelt in prayer:
Upon his ear the solemn anthems fall –
Like songs of angels whispered in the air.
The old man’s dream is o’er; still onward flows
The murm’ring stream; and still with balmy breath
Upon the old man’s cheek the calm breeze blows:
But on his brow is placed the stamp of death.