A poem that Nixon Waterman questions us if we would go back to our youth. Thinking back on all the memories of growing up, the memories of a free-spirited child with no worries or concerns; would we trade if for the wisdom we obtain as we age?
During childhood life was simple and carefree, the world was before us. And as we age we often hear people talk about the old days and many reflect on the happiness and simplicity of those days.
Life's journey takes us from childhood to old age, with memories that make us smile and memories that bring tears to our eyes. Would you trade it all for the days of childhood?
Or, are you content with life as it is and do you think back with fond memories? We hope this poem encourages you to reflect on days gone by, but also to look forward with hope.
Sweet are the songs by lovers sung
As they the old, old story tell,
And sweet the croon of bees among
The clover-blooms and asphodel;
And glad the notes the skylarks trill
At dawn upon their buoyant wings;
But dearer, softer, better still
The low, sweet song the kettle sings.
How strangely come to us again
The pleasant scenes of other days,
The happy, golden moments when
We went our simple, childish ways;
When all life's journey lay before
And gaily beckoned us with smiles,
Ere we had left our father's door
To go the many, weary miles.
There by the broad, deep fireplace sit
The aged ones with silvered hair;
Across each face the flashes flit.
And faded cheeks grow flushed and fair;
And strangely mingle smile and tear
As memory in fondness brings
The old, old days, the while they hear
The low, sweet song the kettle sings.
The embers throw their ruddy gleam
On childish figures glad and free
That watch the changing glow and dream
Of wondrous things that are to be.
The future one sweet chime of bells -
Of golden bells, Hope ever rings;
And through their music softly wells
The low, sweet song the kettle sings.
Oh, all the joys my heart has known,
And all the hopes of those to be
Within the kettle's gentle tone
On gracious wings are borne to me.
And gladness which my care beguiles
Comes bubbling up from youthful springs;
And whispers from the Peaceful Isles
Are in the song the kettle sings.
Would you become a youth again,
Back in that dear old home once more -
Trade all the wisdom sorry men
May have for childhood's happy lore?
Oh, would you feel the morning dew
Of rest upon life's tired wings?
Then dream with me and listen to
The low, sweet song the kettle sings.
