186
TO A LONG-PARTED FRIEND.
Of music for the Land where none again
May wring its chords;
May wring its chords;
Yet even here, I know,
Are seasons calm and glad that antedate
The coming in of happier cycles, where
The human soul, too long left desolate
Shall reckon up its Sabbaths, and repair
Its pleasant things laid waste; upon that Rest
Together we shall enter! we shall share
Its joy above, below,—as God deems best!
Are seasons calm and glad that antedate
The coming in of happier cycles, where
The human soul, too long left desolate
Shall reckon up its Sabbaths, and repair
Its pleasant things laid waste; upon that Rest
Together we shall enter! we shall share
Its joy above, below,—as God deems best!
