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The storm king's car sweeps o'er the skies,
But I heed not the blast,
I'm wandering through the grand old aisles
Of the past, the holy past.


I'm living o'er in one short hour
Those fleeting by-gone years,
With all their many joys and woes,
With all their hopes and fears.


I rove again the sunny spots
I knew in childhood's hours,
And sport along the mossy bank,
And cull the woodland flowers.


I stand amid the youthful throng--
That gay and happy band--
Meet the bright glances of those eyes,
And clasp the friendly hand.


The glorious summer of my life,
And Autumn's later ray,
Like some half sad, half pleasant dream,
Has come and passed away.


And as fond mem'ry's magic tone
Chimes sadly through my soul,
The wild emotions of my heart
Yield not to stern control.


I call to those I loved in youth,
And ask, "O where are they?"
A mocking echo only comes,--
"They all have passed away."


Gone, all gone! The silent grave
Has claimed them for his own,
And with the storm, and with the past,
I'm left alone, alone.