DAILY DYING
119
But softly, when the south wind grieves,
Slow-wandering over wood and plain,
One by one they waver through
The Indian's summer's hazy blue,
And drop, at last, on the forest mould,
Slow-wandering over wood and plain,
One by one they waver through
The Indian's summer's hazy blue,
And drop, at last, on the forest mould,
Coral and ruby and burning gold.
Our death is gradual, like to these;
We die with every waning day;
There is no waft of sorrow's breeze
But bears some heart-leaf slow away!
Up and on to the vast To Be
Our life is going eternally!
Less of earth than we had last year
Throbs in your veins and throbs in mine,
But the way to heaven is growing clear,
While the gates of the city fairer shine;
And the day that our latest treasures flee,
Wide they will open for you and me!
Our death is gradual, like to these;
We die with every waning day;
There is no waft of sorrow's breeze
But bears some heart-leaf slow away!
Up and on to the vast To Be
Our life is going eternally!
Less of earth than we had last year
Throbs in your veins and throbs in mine,
But the way to heaven is growing clear,
While the gates of the city fairer shine;
And the day that our latest treasures flee,
Wide they will open for you and me!
