Where are the waters wandering?
The miller’s daughter asks;
Under the mill-wheel, over the mill-dam,
Plying their noisy tasks,
They murmur and brawl for a moment,
Then onward and onward they go;
Ever advancing, never returning—
Where do the waters flow?
Where are the waters wandering?
Lying, last night, on my bed,
List’ning their restless dashing,
Methought their wild voices said:
“So shall it be on life's current—
A hope or a joy once o’er—
A wish or a dream once uttered—
Like us, shall return no more!”
Then my busy thoughts went wand’ring
Far into my coming life—
Shall it bear me hence on its bosom,
To mingle with care and strife?
Never, ah! never returning,
As those sad whispers foretold,
To the happy hours of the present—
The careless dreaming of old?
With the voice of the wand’ring waters
Mingled at early morn
The sound of the whirring mill-wheel,
The gentle fall of the corn;
And the twilight, misty and mournful,
Faded away from my sight,
Till the drooping boughs of the willows
Were tinted with rosy light;
And the waters onward wand’ring,
Laughing and sparkling went;
Till my lips their smiles repeated,
And I learned the lesson, Content.
Shall I fear—whilst a loving heaven
Such smiles and guidance bestows—
To float on life’s darksome waters,
Or reck where its current flows?