'Mongst roses in the sunset glow,
Ere the white arum's cup of snow
Had closed.
Grandmother sat, content to see
The beauty round her; or maybe
She calmly dozed.
She, with grandchildren round her path,
Finding in life sweet aftermath,
Grew young;
Old voices surged upon the breeze,
That over days remote from these
A spell had hung.
Whilst golden sunbeams danced in space.
Calling up many a sunny place
Of old;
Or here and there a cloudy blot.
That blurred the skies, of darkened spot
In memory told.
Yet dark and light so blent that they
Made picture fair of summer day;
Nor woke
The shadows aught that grief might bring,
For Time smoothed o'er with gentle wing
Each harsher stroke.
The past's wild sobs were hushed, for age
Clear read God's writing on the page
Once dim;
And earth's declining days waxed pale
In the light shining through the veil
That hides from Him.
In a fair border-land she seems;
Behind, before, a world of dreams
All peace;
And doubts that had perplexed her youth
Had settled into simple truth
And fear's surcease.
Maude waiting wonders. In her eyes
To age a time of darkened skies
Is given.
Strained silver cord, and hushed life-song -
"Ay, Maude, but chant of angel-throng
Is nigh — in heaven."
