Dreamer, waiting for darkness with sorrowful, drooping eyes,
Linger not in the valley, bemoaning the day that is done!
Climb the eastern mountains and welcome the rosy skies—
Never yet was the setting so fair as the rising sun!
Dear is the past; its treasures we hold in our hearts for aye;
Woe to the hand that would scatter one wreath of its garnered flowers;
But larger blessing and honor will come with the waking day—
Hail, then, To-morrow, nor tarry with Yesterday's ghostly hours!
Mark how the summers hasten, through blossoming fields of June,
To the purple lanes of the vintage and levels of golden corn;
"Splendors of life I lavish," runs nature's exultant rune,
"For myriads press to follow, and the rarest are yet unborn."
Think how eager the earth is, and every star that shines,
To circle the grander spaces about God's throne that be;
Never the least moon loiters nor the largest sun declines—
Forward they roll forever those glorious depths to see.
Dreamer, waiting for darkness with sorrowful, drooping eyes,
Summers and suns go gladly, and wherefore dost thou repine?
Climb the hills of morning and welcome the rosy skies—
The joy of the boundless future—nay, God himself—is thine!