Littell's Living Age/Volume 144/Issue 1855/Beyond

by Henry Burton

For works with similar titles, see Beyond.

Beyond

     Never a word is said,
          But it trembles in the air,
     And the truant voice has sped,
          To vibrate everywhere;
And perhaps far off in eternal years
The echo may ring upon our ears.

     Never are kind acts done
          To wipe the weeping eyes,
     But like flashes of the sun,
          They signal to the skies;
And up above the angels read
How we have helped the sorer need.

     Never a day is given,
          But it tones the after years,
     And it carries up to heaven
          Its sunshine or its tears;
While the to-morrows stand and wait,
The silent mutes by the outer gate.

     There is no end to the sky,
          And the stars are everywhere,
     And time is eternity,
          And the here is over there;
For the common deeds of the common day
Are ringing bells in the far-away.