p. 418 | The Home Circle by R. Fairchild

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, Cal. · Sep 14, 1882

The Home Circle.

By R. Fairchild

SHADOWS FROM OUT THE PAST.

I HAVE been out on the hills to-day, The dear old hills of my childhood's play; And as I climbed each rugged steep, With my toilsome steps wearily slow, It all came back as a dream in sleep, How I sprang up the way in the long ago, Spurning the rocks in my bounding glee, Or using them for a better view. It mattered not if the path were free, Or tangled or rough, or old or new.

The rocks are gray I used to climb; Covered by mosses the scars of time. Under the shade of the rustling pines, Where I played with my happy mates, Now the brambles wreathe their tangled vines; While the somber pines, as moaning fates, As I rested there on the stones unturned, Seemed mournfully asking their fate— Weirdly sighing for those I have yearned, They who have passed through the sunset gate.

Then on and up in the fresh spring breeze, We clambered and swung on the leafy trees; For high above, on a beetling rock, The wild columbines swung their gay bells, Flaunting their bloom in the winds to mock: While the bravest scaled the craggy fells, And waved their trophies high in the air, Then tossed them to us below with ease; While we gathered the saxifrage fair, And in cliffs found pale anemones.

And voices high, then sweet and low, Came floating from out the long ago; I heard the ring of a gladsome shout, From one who sailed for the golden land— There came wild storms and a tempest's rout, And he slept on the ocean's shifting sand; A rippling laugh as notes of a bird, In tremulous waves thrilled my ear— Was it out of the skies that I heard Her voice, so sweetly toned, and so clear?

Our spring has grown into autumn gray; But few are left toiling up the way; And some have failed, in battle worn out, While some have gained the victor's height; And others are struggling on in doubt. As we press on up the steeps of light, New glory-crowned peaks will arise; And clearly will shine the pathway they trod, Leading on to the highlands of the skies— We shall all meet there on the hills of God. —R. Fairchild, in Christian at Work.