The Van Buren Press

POETRY.
For the Press.
"WHAT IS LIFE."
BY EDWARD.
Oh, what is life,
With all its strife,
But dreams from which we'll ne'er awake,
Now day, now night
Now dark, now light,
E'en dreams that make us fear and quake.
We love to stand,
E'en hand in hand,
With those we love by life's swift stream,
And with our hands
Upon the sands.
Write characters that pleasures seem.
Alas! a wave
Comes now to lave
The very spot whereon we stood,
And on the place
There's left no trace
Of all we wrote, so sweet and good.
How oft at night,
By Lunar's light,
We've dreamed of happy days to come,
And even thought
That we had bought
A right to happiness and home.
The years have flown.
And we've ne'er known,
These blissful days that we had craved.
We've woke from sleep.
To sigh and weep.
And call to mind life's perils braved.
Is there no spot.
Where woe forgot,
Along life's pathway e'er may be.
Where purest love.
Like that above,
Will from our trouble's set us free?
Is there no place
Where is no trace,
Of all life's chequered scenes below.
Some kindly glade,
Beneath whose shade.
Our joy might put to flight our woe?
Up in the skies.
A paradise
Its doors wide open throws to all,
And all who will,
May have their fill
Of bliss that God will ne'er recall.
O. land of rest.
Where all the blest,
Are shorn of all life's weary strife,
Ere long we'll stand
Upon the strand,
And gaze across the sea of life.
Beyond the stream
We'll catch the gleam.
Of eyes that earnest do beseech
From shore to shore
They'll gaze evermore,
And watch our bliss-approaching feet.
Then what is life?
Tis but a strife
To reach the only realm of rest,
A weary race
To win a place
Within the mansions of the blest.
Let's nobly fight
'Gainst wrong. for right,
Till we the race have nobly won,
Then on that shore
Friends gone before,
Will share with us their bliss begun.