It stands, safe sheltered from sun and breeze,
That wayside seat 'neath the drooping trees,
With a welcome true for all who pass,
From the travelling priest to the village lass.
The old wife resting from steps of pain,
Or pedlar counting his modest gain.
 "Stay, stay," it seems to say,
 "Rest and peace to borrow;
     Here awhile
     Pause and smile,
 Though you tire to-morrow!"

The children stop for a boisterous game:
The boor to carve an unknown name;
The student comes with a wearied look,
Preferring his own to Nature's book.
It has no word for those, I deem.
But to lovers twain who sit and dream,
 "Stay, stay," it seems to say,
 "In the world is sorrow;
     Stay and smile,
     Love awhile,
 Though you frown to-morrow!"

In those time-worn arms in the days agone
I have laughed with others and mused alone;
And the moss around, so green and fine.
Was the fresher once for tears of mine.
It has nursed sweet hopes in the happy past;
And if ever I sought it with brow o'ercast,
 "Stay, stay," it seems to say,
 "Banish sighs and sorrow,
     Wait awhile,
     Life may smile
 Brighter far to-morrow!"