It Is A Comely Fashion To Be

Yet There Are Some Resting-places, / Life's Untroubled Interludes; / Times When Neither Past Nor Future / On The Soul's Deep Calm Intrudes.

And Old Affront Will Stir The Heart Through Years Of Rankling Pain.

Her Face Betokened All Things Dear And Good, The Light Of Somewhat Yet To Come Was There Asleep, And Waiting For The Opening Day, When Childish Thoughts, Like Flowers Would Drift Away.

What Change Has Made The Pastures Sweet And Reached The Daisies At My Feet, And Cloud That Wears A Golden Hem? This Lovely World, The Hills, The Sward-- They All Look Fresh, As If Our Lord But Yesterday Had Finished Them.

I Wish, And I Wish That The Spring Would Go Faster, Nor Long Summer Bide So Late; And I Could Grow On Like The Foxglove And Aster, For Some Things Are Ill To Wait.