My New World

my prow is tending toward the west, Old voices growing faint, dear faces dim, And all that I have loved the best Far back upon the waste of memory swim. My old world disappears: Few hopes and many fears Accompany me. But from the distance fair A sound of birds, a glimpse of pleasant skies, A scent of fragrant air, All soothingly arise In cooing voice, sweet breath, and merry eyes Of grandson on my knee. And ere my sails be furled, Kind Lord, I pray Thou let me live a day In my new world.

Collection: 
English
Irving Browne

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