Sixteen! and life to thee looks bright and fair;—
A book unread, rose-tinted, golden edged,
Encased in binding curious, costly, rare;—
And all the years to be thou holdest pledged
To give thee from its pages, day by day,
Readings to cheer and bless the blithesome way.
And life is such a volume, only thou,
From garnered storage of the heart and mind,
Must fill unwritten pages, and allow
Fair pictures — of pure thought, of self resigned,
Of kindly deeds — each new-made page to grace;—
How blest if none thou, later, woulds't efface!
Sixteen! A May-day in the path of life,
A marvelous puzzle on the finger twirled;
Sixteen again; a stir of earnest strife
And toil and tumult in a restless world;
Repeated still,— a patient, steadfast hold
On good attained,— ripe fruit, and grain of gold.
Sixteen once more! Serene in shade or sun,
A brighter outlook now; existence grand!
Content in hopes fulfilled, in victories won,
Mingling with holier yearnings for that land,
Whose o'er-flown radiance and whose surplus bliss
Have been the glory and the joy of this.