I have come, as it were, from nowhere;
I have no cherished home:
I am welcomed by high and low folk,
Wherever I may roam.
Oft I come, as a gust or soft wind,
With gentleness and glee;
For a while I will linger, and then
I'm gone as silently.
Though I come over dismal marshland,
I bring not its foul air;
Though I come from the grave, or death bed,
I bring not their despair;
Though I travel o'er plain and mountain,
I bring not weary hours;
Though o'er desert I pass, or rockland,
I've naught but soft, sweet flowers.
Though the sunlight forsake my pathway,
My heart seems light and free;
Though the world may be filled with sorrow,
I bring it not with me.
Oft on cold snowy days I fly through
The chilled and frosty air,
Causing icicled trees to shed tears
While worn by winter's care.
In the spring I revive the flowers,
The trees, the grass; the bird
Sings, the bee and the brook make music
As sweet as you have heard.
In the summer I breathe on warm days
And cause them to withdraw
Their intense heat; I make the green fields
The prettiest e'er you saw.
As I fly through the land, I gather
The sweetest for my store.—
Oft I come in the sad, still autumn
To soothe some soul that's sore.
I have sorrows and cares and troubles
As deep and great as yours,
But I cover them o'er with laughter,
And bind them up secure
With the chords of delight and kindness,
Then paint them well with smiles
And distribute them to the lonely
To turn away the whiles.
I invade the repose of sick room
And fan the fevered brow.
In seclusion of love I'm list'ning,
To mark the sacred vow.
In the solemnness deep of worship,
In hour of fervent prayer,
Oft I busy myself with wafting
A breath of solace there.
I have come, from where?—From the unknown,
A mystery I seem.
I shall pass, and no man shall see me:
Return but as a dream.