O, walk beside me through this vale of strife,
Forsake me not, thou Spirit of my life!
Sole treasurer of youth's glories at its springs,
Of all its orient imaginings:
Thou that at life's close dost sit,
Smiling by ambition's grave,
When the sun doth shine on it,
When the storms have ceased to rave;
When Meditation's self is born from thee,
And owns the wisdom drawn from Memory .