Edward Rowland Sill (1841–1887)

THE STARS know a secret

They do not tell;

And morn brings a message

Hidden well.

There ’s a blush on the apple,

A tint on the wing,

And the bright wind whistles,

And the pulses sting.

Perish dark memories!

There ’s light ahead;

This world ’s for the living;

Not for the dead.

In the shining city,

On the loud pave,

The life-tide is running,

Like a leading wave.

How the stream quickens,

As noon draws near,

No room for loiterers,

No time for fear.

Out on the farm lands

Earth smiles as well;

Gold-crusted grain-fields,

With sweet, warm smell;

Whir of the reaper,

Like a giant bee;

Like a Titan cricket,

Thrilling with glee.

On mart and meadow,

Pavement or plain;

On azure mountain,

Or azure main—

Heaven bends in blessing;

Lost is but won;

Goes the good rain-cloud,

Comes the good sun!

Only babes whimper,

And sick men wail,

And faint hearts and feeble hearts

And weaklings fail.

Down the great currents

Let the boat swing;

There was never winter

But brought the spring.