The Lights of Other Days
Thou art crumbling to the dust old pile,
Thou art hastening to thy fall,
And 'round thee in thy loneliness
Clings the ivy to thy wall.
The worshipers are scattered now,
Who knelt before thy shrine,
And silence reigns where anthems rose
In days of "Auld Lang Syne".
And sadly sighs the wandering wind,
Where oft in in years gone by
Prayers rose from many hearts to him
The highest of the high;
The tramp of many a busy foot
That sought thy aisles is o'er
And many a weary heart around
Is still forever more.
How doth ambition's hope take wing.
How droops the spirit now;
We hear the distant city's din.
The dead are mute below.
The Sun that shown upon their paths
Now gilds their lonely graves:
The zephyrs which once fanned their brows
The grass above them waves.
Oh! could we call the many back
Who've gathered here in vain-
Who've careless roved where we do now,
Who'll never meet again;
How would our very hearts be stirred
To meet the earnest gaze
Of the lovely and the beautiful
The lights of other days.
"A Stranger"
