The Ottawa Free Trader

We came to being from the night,
As cometh forth the morning light;
The world is beautiful and new;
The earth is filled with flowers and dew;
Birds loudly sing on wing and spray,
And we—more merrily than they.

We gather strength, we run, we leap,
Find joy in everything, and sleep,
With mirth and beauty hand in hand,
We take possession of the land;
Life surely then is not a breath—
What then has life to do with death?

A mother's love, her smiles, her tears,
Are with us in those blessed years;
The seeds of fond affection sown
In youth, that strong in age are grown;
Love that in part her love repays,
Her solace in declining days;
Light, warmth in age's wintry gloom;
Fair stars, sweet blossoms to the tomb.

Then knowledge comes, with manhood's noon,
With care and sorrow, all too soon;
The springs of mystery are unsealed;
All that was hidden is revealed;
A common vision is the spring;
The rainbow is a common thing;
The morning and the sunset skies
Are gazed on with familiar eyes;
The reign of wild delight is o'er—
And the bright earth is Heaven no more!