My Birthday

Beneath the moonlight and the snow     Lies dead my latest year;     The winter winds are wailing low     Its dirges in my ear.     I grieve not with the moaning wind     As if a loss befell;     Before me, even as behind,     God is, and all is well!     His light shines on me from above,     His low voice speaks within,     The patience of immortal love     Outwearying mortal sin.     Not mindless of the growing years     Of care and loss and pain,     My eyes are wet with thankful tears     For blessings which remain.     If dim the gold of life has grown,     I will not count it dross,     Nor turn from treasures still my own     To sigh for lack and loss.     The years no charm from Nature take;     As sweet her voices call,     As beautiful her mornings break,     As fair her evenings fall.     Love watches oer my quiet ways,     Kind voices speak my name,     And lips that find it hard to praise     Are slow, at least, to blame.     How softly ebb the tides of will!     How fields, once lost or won,     Now lie behind me green and still     Beneath a level sun.     How hushed the hiss of party hate,     The clamor of the throng!     How old, harsh voices of debate     Flow into rhythmic song!     Methinks the spirits temper grows     Too soft in this still air;     Somewhat the restful heart foregoes     Of needed watch and prayer.     The bark by tempest vainly tossed     May founder in the calm,     And he who braved the polar frost     Faint by the isles of balm.     Better than self-indulgent years     The outflung heart of youth,     Than pleasant songs in idle ears     The tumult of the truth.     Rest for the weary hands is good,     And love for hearts that pine,     But let the manly habitude     Of upright souls be mine.     Let winds that blow from heaven refresh,     Dear Lord, the languid air;     And let the weakness of the flesh     Thy strength of spirit share.     And, if the eye must fail of light,     The ear forget to hear,     Make clearer still the spirits sight,     More fine the inward ear!     Be near me in mine hours of need     To soothe, or cheer, or warn,     And down these slopes of sunset lead     As up the hills of morn!