Love Unrequitted

Lord, I am old; the life that was so sweet
Will soon be breathed out darkly at Thy feet;
No more for me the sudden joys, or tears,
The keen pursuits and longings of young years;
Life's gloaming is about me calm, and still,
Here in the deepening shadow of the hill.
Lord, I am old; I see no form, or face,
Of any that began with me life's race;
I step from out the serried ranks of time,
To see the runners in their eager prime
Rush past me, and I greet them with a cheer;
In vain,—they are too far away to hear.
The youths and maidens—all their life in flower—
Sit by the ingle where I coldly cower;
I, inly blessing them as thus they sit,
Love the fresh souls that are so fondly knit;
But from their eyes, if they should meet with mine,
No answering light is ever seen to shine.
I love to catch the children in their flight,
And take a toll of kisses, in despite
Their laughing struggles. Upward glancing eyes,
And saucy lips, and breathless curt replies,—
I love them all; but in what cold degree,
These laughing loves, can they in turn love me?
Lord, I am old; and, wearing to life's goal,
Closed are the issues of my captive soul;
Dim eyes, dull ears, faint touch, and failing speech,—
A memory which too far out-spans the reach
Of any left to listen,—still and lone
I sit as in a monument of stone.
I hear my household name, and looking round,
I see another answer to the sound.
No wealth have I wherewith I may requite
The charities which make my burthen light;—
What hand still loves to linger clasped in mine?
What eye my thoughts unspoken would divine?
Lord, I am old; but, soul of love and ruth,
In Thee I find again my vanished youth;
For Thee I am a child,—more dear, may be,
Than when I lisped beside my mother's knee.
To others worn and wasted, spent, and old,—
To Thee a lamb returning to the fold.
Oh, heart too young! Oh, soul too clear and deep!
Sleep for the weary flesh,—for thee no sleep.
God's child—I keep my courses in His school,
Learn to life's end, and feel how high his rule.
Lord, let my coward heart no more complain:
Like Thee, I love, and am not loved again?