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1893.
1893.
Dull and grey were the closing days of the year now dead,
With weeping skies, and thick cold mists that shroud-like spread—
As though Dame Nature wished to hide the dying bed.
With weeping skies, and thick cold mists that shroud-like spread—
As though Dame Nature wished to hide the dying bed.
O year, so full of promise bright! O fated ninety-three!
Who, looking on thy dawning hours, could thy dark close foresee,
Or guess that thou wert pregnant with such human misery.
Who, looking on thy dawning hours, could thy dark close foresee,
Or guess that thou wert pregnant with such human misery.
Surely our God in mercy sent to us the summer fair,
That the memory of its golden days should keep us from despair,
When hearts and homes alike should be cold and sad with care.
That the memory of its golden days should keep us from despair,
When hearts and homes alike should be cold and sad with care.
But in the time of suffering drear I saw a form arise.
I watched it long, I saw it oft in many a strange disguise;
But through them all I recognised the sweet Self-sacrifice.
I watched it long, I saw it oft in many a strange disguise;
But through them all I recognised the sweet Self-sacrifice.
And here and there from hall and cot went Christian Charity;
And by her side I also saw that kind soul Sympathy—
Whose cheery tones and genial smile brighten'd Adversity.
And by her side I also saw that kind soul Sympathy—
Whose cheery tones and genial smile brighten'd Adversity.
