Perrysburg Journal

The clouds that stoop from yonder sky
Discharged their burdens, and are free;
The streams that take them hasten by,
To find relief in lake and sea.
The wildest wind in waves afar
Sleeps, pillowed on its ruffled wings;
And song, through many a stormy bar,
Beats into silence on the strings.
And love o'ercomes his young unrest,
And first ambition's flight is o'er;
And doubt is cradled on the breast
Of perfect faith, and speaks no more.
Our dreams and passions cease to dare,
And homely patience learns her part;
Yet still some keen pursuing care
Forbids content to brim the heart.
The gift unearned, beyond the hand;
The fault in all of beauty won;
The mildew of the harvest land,
The spots upon the risen sun.
And still some cheaper service claims
The will that leaps to loftier call;
Some cloud is cast on splendid aims,
On power achieved some common thrall;
To spoil each beckoning victory.
A thousand pigmy hands are thrust;
And round each height attained we see
Our ether dim with lower dust.
Ah, could we breathe some peaceful air,
And all save purpose there forget,
Till eager courage learn to bear
The gadfly's sting, the pebble's fret!
Let higher goal and harsher war,
To test our virtue, then combine;
'Tis not for idle ease we pray,
But freedom for our task divine.
—March Galaxy.