Poems (Ford)/Childhood Friends
CHILDHOOD FRIENDS.
Brightly the pure, guileless friendships of childhood
Gleam out like gems on the brow of the Past;
To us the dear haunts in valley and wildwood
Seem fairy isles on life's broad ocean cast.
Gleam out like gems on the brow of the Past;
To us the dear haunts in valley and wildwood
Seem fairy isles on life's broad ocean cast.
There in life's morning we wandered together,
Up with the lark, in the young, rosy hours,
Brushing with light feet the dew from the heather,
Chasing the butterflies over the flowers.
Up with the lark, in the young, rosy hours,
Brushing with light feet the dew from the heather,
Chasing the butterflies over the flowers.
Now, like the leaves that the autumn winds scatter
Over the brown earth, we're drifting apart,
Dreading the voices that slander or flatter—
Doubt chases childhood's sweet trust from the heart.
Over the brown earth, we're drifting apart,
Dreading the voices that slander or flatter—
Doubt chases childhood's sweet trust from the heart.
Some at the death-angel's call have departed
O'er the dark wave to the beautiful shore;
Some, with their life-load of cares weary-hearted,
Wait the pale boatman to ferry them o'er.
O'er the dark wave to the beautiful shore;
Some, with their life-load of cares weary-hearted,
Wait the pale boatman to ferry them o'er.
One, young and brave, in the wild Western ocean
Sleeps his last sleep 'neath the blue, heaving waves;
Cradled to rest by the billows' soft motion,—
Sweet be his dreams in the pearl-spangled caves.
Sleeps his last sleep 'neath the blue, heaving waves;
Cradled to rest by the billows' soft motion,—
Sweet be his dreams in the pearl-spangled caves.
Where o'er low grave-stones the ivy is creeping,
Where, dark-robed mourners, the yew branches wave,
One 'neath the turf of the valley lies sleeping,—
Last spring's sweet snowdrops bloomed over her grave.
Where, dark-robed mourners, the yew branches wave,
One 'neath the turf of the valley lies sleeping,—
Last spring's sweet snowdrops bloomed over her grave.
Some are to-day in the red field of danger,
Some in the old homes on valley or hill;
One, though alone in the land of the stranger,
Thinks of child-friendships, and treasures them still.
Some in the old homes on valley or hill;
One, though alone in the land of the stranger,
Thinks of child-friendships, and treasures them still.
On the fair shore of the kingdom eternal
Like little children all dwellers shall be;
Earth-withered hearts in its groves shall grow vernal,
Doubt and distrust like the tempest shall flee.
Like little children all dwellers shall be;
Earth-withered hearts in its groves shall grow vernal,
Doubt and distrust like the tempest shall flee.