THE WASTED FOUNTAINS.
 
        "And their nobles have sent their little ones to the waters;
        they came to the pits and found no water; they returned with
        their vessels empty." -- Jeremiah xiv. 3.
 
        When the fitful fever of the soul
            Is awakened in thee first;
        And thou goest like Judah's children forth,
            To slake thy burning thirst; --
 
        And when dry and wasted, like the springs
            Sought by that little band,
        Before thee, in their emptiness
            Life's broken cisterns stand; --
 
        When the ripened fruits that tempted,
            Turn to ashes on the taste;
        And thine early visions fade and pass,
            Like the mirage of the waste; --
 
        When faith darkens, and hopes languish,
            In the shade of gathering years;
        And the urn thou bear'st is empty,
            Or o'erflowing with thy tears,
 
        Because those transient springs have failed thee,
            And those founts of youth are dried;
        Wilt thou, among the mouldering stones,
            In weariness abide?
 
        Wilt thou sit among the ruins,
            With all words of cheer unspoken,
        Till the silver chord is loosened;
            Till the golden bowl is broken?
 
        Up, and onward! towards the east,
            Green oases thou shalt find;
        Streams that rise from higher sources,
            Than the pools thou leav'st behind.
 
        Life has import more inspiring
            Than the fancies of thy youth;
        It has hopes as high as heaven;
            It has labor, -- it has truth.
 
        It has wrongs that may be righted, --
            Noble deeds that may be done; --
        Its great battles are unfought,
            Its great triumphs are unwon.
 
        There is rising from its troubled deeps,
            A low, unceasing moan;
        There are arching, there are breaking
            Other hearts besides thine own.
 
        From strong limbs, that should be chainless,
            There are fetters to unbind;
        There are words to raise the fallen;
            There is sight to give the blind.
 
        There are crushed and broken spirits,
            That electric thoughts may thrill;
        Lofty dreams to be embodied,
            By the might of one strong will.
 
        There are God and Truth above thee, --
            Wilt thou languish in despair?
        Tread thy griefs beneath thy feet, --
            Scale the walls of Heaven by prayer.
 
        'Tis the key of the Apostle,
            That opens Heaven from below;
        'Tis the ladder of the patriarch,
            Whereon angels come and go.