John Townsend Trowbridge

The all-enclosing freehold of Content.

With years a richer life begins, The spirit mellows: Ripe age gives tone to violins, Wine, and good fellows.

I keep some portion of my early gleam; Brokenly bright, like moonbeams on a river, It lights my life, a far illusive dream, Moves as I move, and leads me on forever.

Not in rewards, but in the strength to strive, The blessing lies.

Our days, our deeds, all we achieve or are, Lay folded in our infancy; the things Of good or ill we choose while yet unborn.

Men are polished, through act and speech, Each by each, As pebbles are smoothed on the rolling beach.

If you will observe, it doesn’t take A man of giant mould to make A giant shadow on the wall; And he who in our daily sight Seems but a figure mean and small, Outlined in Fame’s illusive light,

Of nothing comes nothing: springs rise not above Their source in the far-hidden heart of the mountains: Whence then have descended the Wisdom and Love That in man leap to light in intelligent fountains?

The birds can fly, An' why can't I?

Darius was clearly of the opinion That the air is also man’s dominion, And that, with paddle or fin or pinion, We soon or late Shall navigate The azure, as now we sail the sea.

For me the diamond dawns are set In rings of beauty, And all my ways are dewy wet With pleasant duty.