TWILIGHT.
297
Come thronging round us, like a far-off glory,
Seen in the distance dim of ancient story.
Seen in the distance dim of ancient story.
Beckoning in silence with their phantom finger,
They seem to us,—as reverently we stand.
Uncertain whether we should go or linger,
Waiting the glories of the better land,—
They seem to whisper of both joy and sorrow;
The griefs of yesterday, hopes of to-morrow.
They seem to us,—as reverently we stand.
Uncertain whether we should go or linger,
Waiting the glories of the better land,—
They seem to whisper of both joy and sorrow;
The griefs of yesterday, hopes of to-morrow.
Each evil deed, each promise idly broken,
Rankling like poisoned arrows in the heart;
The good deeds we have done, the kind words spoken,
Balm-like are poured upon the wounded part;
And by the promise made of sins forgiven,
We upward look, repentingly, to heaven.
Rankling like poisoned arrows in the heart;
The good deeds we have done, the kind words spoken,
Balm-like are poured upon the wounded part;
And by the promise made of sins forgiven,
We upward look, repentingly, to heaven.
So let us live that, when the hopes have perished,
Which made this earth a paradise of love,
When hearts that loved us, and the forms we cherished,
Have left us for a better home above,—
So live, that, from this twilight hour of sorrow,
We may awake unto a glorious morrow.
Which made this earth a paradise of love,
When hearts that loved us, and the forms we cherished,
Have left us for a better home above,—
So live, that, from this twilight hour of sorrow,
We may awake unto a glorious morrow.
