I mourn no more my vanished years;
Beneath a tender rain,
An April rain of smiles and tears,
My heart is young again.

The west winds blood, and, singing low,
I hear the glad streams run.
The windows of my soul I throw
Wide open to the sun.

No longer forward nor behind
I look in hope and fear;
But grateful, take the good I find,
The best of now and here.

I plow no more a desert land,
To harvest weed and tare;
The manna dropping from God’s hand
Rebuke my painful care.

I break my pilgrim staff, I lay
Aside the toiling oar;
The angel sought so far away,
I welcome at my door.

The airs of spring may never play
Among the ripening corn;
Not freshness of the flowers of May
Blow through the autumn morn.

The woods shall wear their robes of praise,
The south winds softly sigh,
And sweat, calm days in golden haze
Melt down the amber sky.

Not less shall manly deed and word
Rebuke an age of wrong:
The graven flowers that wreath the sword
Make not the blade less strong.

But smiting hands shall learn to heal,
To build as to destroy;
Nor less my heard for others feel
That I the more enjoy.

All as God wills, who wisely heeds
To give or to withhold,
And knoweth more of all my needs
That all my prayers have told!

Enough that blessings undeserved
Have marked my unerring track –
That wheresoe’er my feet have swerved,
His chastening turned me back –

That more and more a Providence
Of love is understood,
Making the streams of time and sense
Sweet with eternal good –

That death seems but a covered way
Which opens into light,
Wherein no blinded child can stray
Beyond the Father’s sight –

That care and trial seem at last,
Through Memory’s sunset air,
Like mountain ranges overpast,
In purple distance fair –

That all the jarring notes of life
Seem blended in a psalm,
And all the angels of its strife
Slow rounding into calm.

By J. G. Whitier

Signs of the Times
Volume 27, Number 17; September 15, 1859

Below are the songs that were made from the poem using AI. They are identified
by the genre of the music in paranthesis.