Life is a journey, and its fairest flowers
Lie in our path beneath pride's trampling feet;
Oh, let us stoop to virtue's humble bowers,
And gather those, which, faded, still are sweet.
These way-side blossoms amulets are of price;
They lead to pleasure, yet from dangers warn;—
Turn toil to bliss, this earth to Paradise,
And sunset death to heaven's eternal morn.
A good deed done hath memory's blest perfume,—
A day of self-forgetfulness, all given
To holy charity, hath perennial bloom
That goes, undrooping, up from earth to heaven.
Forgiveness, too, will flourish in the skies —
Justice, transplanted thither, yields fair fruit;
And if repentance, borne to heaven, dies,
‘ Tis that no tears are there to wet its root.