SWEET DREAMS OF THE PAST
By R. D. Benham
The sun has just set and the day’s labor ended,
And softly the twilight creeps into my room;
The lights and the shadows of evening are blended
As over the hills floats the beautiful moon. The light breeze of evening steals down from the mountain
And wafts the shrill note of the lone whip-poor-will,
As sadly she sings ’neath the trees by the fountain,
And peace folds her wings over valley and hill. The limbs all weary with toil and commotion
At last find repose in the hush of the night;
And joys only known in the “sweet home” devotion
Now gladden the heart in the day’s fading light. The fire-fly’s lamp is aglow o’er the meadows,
And night-birds are chanting their evening refrain;
And stars now awake in the deepening shadows,
And crickets are heard in the ripening grain. These carry me back to my dear happy childhood;
Like echoes of Eden they ring in my ears,
And garden, and field, and the sweet-scented wildwood
Are beck’ning me on through the vanishing years. And dream-like I list to the whispering voices
That come from afar like a sweet chime of bells;
And bird songs I hear and my spirit rejoices
To wander once more through those musical dells. But alas! ’tis a dream and the vision is fading;
The scenes that I loved are still far, far away;
And the years hasten by and their forms are receding,
And fainter their voice at the close of each day. My feet they are heavy, my heart it grows weary,
My eyes they grow dim, and my hair’s turning gray;
The days are so long, and the nights are more dreary,
And I, like the past, will be soon far away. Beaverton, Oregon. R. D. BENHAM.