Poems (Gifford)/Dreams
For works with similar titles, see Dreams.
DREAMS.
They come to us oft when the shades are deep,
And our voices are silent and hushed in sleep;
Glad, fairy-like visions of all things bright
Frequent the dark hours of the calm midnight,
And lift from our senses the veil that parts
The things that we love from our yearning hearts.
At liberty over all lands we roam,
Then are in a moment again at home,
And our loved ones return from each distant place
And clasp us once more in a fond embrace,
And others fling from them the grave's fast chain,
And gladden our hearts with their light again;
But we rise in the morn from our haunted bed,
And sigh to discover our dreams have fled.
And our voices are silent and hushed in sleep;
Glad, fairy-like visions of all things bright
Frequent the dark hours of the calm midnight,
And lift from our senses the veil that parts
The things that we love from our yearning hearts.
At liberty over all lands we roam,
Then are in a moment again at home,
And our loved ones return from each distant place
And clasp us once more in a fond embrace,
And others fling from them the grave's fast chain,
And gladden our hearts with their light again;
But we rise in the morn from our haunted bed,
And sigh to discover our dreams have fled.
And then in the daylight, with open eyes,
What beautiful visions before us rise!
We dream of delights that may lie in store,
More deep than we ever have known before;
We picture ourselves near a flower-clad field,
Where the blossoms all manner of fragrance yield,
And think soon to enter and cull the flowers,
And to pass 'mid its beauty our joyous hours,
But nearing we find the mirage has fled,
That a withering blight o'er our hopes has spread,
And we know we have had but a waking dream,
And our pictures of joy are not what they seem.
What beautiful visions before us rise!
We dream of delights that may lie in store,
More deep than we ever have known before;
We picture ourselves near a flower-clad field,
Where the blossoms all manner of fragrance yield,
And think soon to enter and cull the flowers,
And to pass 'mid its beauty our joyous hours,
But nearing we find the mirage has fled,
That a withering blight o'er our hopes has spread,
And we know we have had but a waking dream,
And our pictures of joy are not what they seem.
But one blissful vision comes o'er and o'er,
And ever more vivid than e'er before;
It comes in the hush of the silent night,
It comes when the life-teeming noon is bright,
In our separate haunts, 'mid the busy throng,
When we tremble with fear, when our hearts are strong;
There rises before us a city fair,
Where the sun is ne'er shadowed with clouds of care,
With walls all of jasper, and streets of gold,
With portals of pearl, and with wealth untold;
And One with His glory lights all around,
And blesses the throngs that His throne surround,
Encircles each brow with a victor's.crown,
And 1 token of worship they cast it down.
No frown on their forehead, no tear-dimmed eye,
They utter no murmur, they heave no sigh;
But we hear, as it were from an angel-band,
Sweet snatches of song in that far-off land.
Then we dream that we see on that golden floor
The faces of some we have seen before,
And we picture ourselves in the glorious scene
Gazing full on the light, with no veil between.
And ever more vivid than e'er before;
It comes in the hush of the silent night,
It comes when the life-teeming noon is bright,
In our separate haunts, 'mid the busy throng,
When we tremble with fear, when our hearts are strong;
There rises before us a city fair,
Where the sun is ne'er shadowed with clouds of care,
With walls all of jasper, and streets of gold,
With portals of pearl, and with wealth untold;
And One with His glory lights all around,
And blesses the throngs that His throne surround,
Encircles each brow with a victor's.crown,
And 1 token of worship they cast it down.
No frown on their forehead, no tear-dimmed eye,
They utter no murmur, they heave no sigh;
But we hear, as it were from an angel-band,
Sweet snatches of song in that far-off land.
Then we dream that we see on that golden floor
The faces of some we have seen before,
And we picture ourselves in the glorious scene
Gazing full on the light, with no veil between.
Is it only a dream? Shall we wake at morn
To find it like others that are earth-born?
Will its glory grow pale like the sunset-glow?
May we only in fancy that rapture know?
Oh! tremble we not, though the morn shall break,
And we from our dream of delight shall wake;
'Twill be but to find that the shades have fled,
And the substance of glory is left instead,
And more bright will it be, more enchanting, more dear
Than aught that we ever have pictured here.
Oh, tremble we not! Be it only our care
To be clad in the robe that the ransomed wear!
To find it like others that are earth-born?
Will its glory grow pale like the sunset-glow?
May we only in fancy that rapture know?
Oh! tremble we not, though the morn shall break,
And we from our dream of delight shall wake;
'Twill be but to find that the shades have fled,
And the substance of glory is left instead,
And more bright will it be, more enchanting, more dear
Than aught that we ever have pictured here.
Oh, tremble we not! Be it only our care
To be clad in the robe that the ransomed wear!