The Last Time I Stood By This River Poem by Mary Anne Browne

The last time I stood by this river,
The sun was just sinking to rest ;
I parted - and parted for ever,
From the maiden I clasp'd to my breast.

Fair flowers around us were blowing,
That long since have faded away ;
And a beam on the cottage was glowing
That has sunk in the arms of decay.

That elm, that now rises in glory,
Was then but a sapling plant ;
That shepherd, whose head is grown hoary,
A youth in industry and want.

The face of the earth seems remoulded,
Since I last saw my own native clime ;
And full many a change is yet folded
Within the broad bosom of Time.

But there is one object unalter'd -
The sun with his heaven-lit flame ; -
The last time I o'er the hill falter'd
'Twas blazing and burning the same.

It hath gazed on full many a nation,
When scatter'd in sorrow and woe ;-
It hath look'd o'er the gloom of creation,
And smiled on our sufferings below.

It hath risen in the morn in its brightness, -
It hath blazed thro' its heav'nly course still,-
It hath sunk in the eve in its brightness,
Behind the dark shade of that hill.

So 'tis with the good the world's given,-
Its brightest of dreams will decay ;
But the hope that is fixed in heaven
Can never be faded away.

'T will rise in the blaze of its splendour -
'T will roll thro' its luminous course ;-
In grief, cheering comfort 't will render-
Thy lasting and brilliant resource.

No gloom from thy heart can divide it
Still lit by its soul-cheering ray ;
It will sink but when thou sink'st beside it,
As the sun only sets with the day.

O'er the clouds of thy sorrow 'twill lighten,
Illuming the shadow beneath ;
And thy evening hour 't will brighten,
Shining e'en in the Valley of Death.