My Birthday

Beneath the moonlight and the snow

Lies dead my latest year;

The winter winds are wailing low

Its dirges in my ear.

I grieve not with the moaning wind

As if a loss befell;

Before me, even as behind,

God is, and all is well!

His light shines on me from above,

His low voice speaks within,—

The patience of immortal love

Outwearying mortal sin.

Not mindless of the growing years

Of care and loss and pain,

My eyes are wet with thankful tears

For blessings which remain.

If dim the gold of life has grown,

I will not count it dross,

Nor turn from treasures still my own

To sigh for lack and loss.

The years no charm from Nature take;

As sweet her voices call,

As beautiful her mornings break,

As fair her evenings fall.

Love watches o’er my quiet ways,

Kind voices speak my name,

And lips that find it hard to praise

Are slow, at least, to blame.

How softly ebb the tides of will!

How fields, once lost or won,

Now lie behind me green and still

Beneath a level sun!

How hushed the hiss of party hate,

The clamor of the throng!

How old, harsh voices of debate

Flow into rhythmic song!

Methinks the spirit’s temper grows

Too soft in this still air;

Somewhat the restful heart foregoes

Of needed watch and prayer.

The bark by tempest vainly tossed

May founder in the calm,

And he who braved the polar frost

Faint by the isles of balm.

Better than self-indulgent years

The outflung heart of youth,

Than pleasant songs in idle ears

The tumult of the truth.

Rest for the weary hands is good,

And love for hearts that pine,

But let the manly habitude

Of upright souls be mine.

Let winds that blow from heaven refresh,

Dear Lord, the languid air;

And let the weakness of the flesh

Thy strength of spirit share.

And, if the eye must fail of light,

The ear forget to hear,

Make clearer still the spirit’s sight,

More fine the inward ear!

Be near me in mine hours of need

To soothe, or cheer, or warn,

And down these slopes of sunset lead

As up the hills of morn!