Written for a little girl on her ninth birthday.

In the morning of life's day,
All before is bright and gay,
All behind is like a dream,
Or the morn's uncertain beam,
Falling on a misty stream.

In the morning of thy youth,
Learn this sober, solemn truth;
Life is passing like a stream,
Or a meteor's sudden gleam;
Like the bright aurora's blaze,
Disappearing while we gaze;
Soon the child becomes a maid,
In the pride of youth arrayed,
And her mind and form expand
To proportions great and grand;
Then she changes to a wife,
Battling with the ills of life;
Thus we come and thus we go,
And our cups with joy and woe,
Oft are made to overflow.
Each returning bright birthday,
Like the mile-stones by the way,
Will remind you as you go--
Though at first they pass so slow
That behind there is one more
And, of course, one less before;