Poems (Hinchman)/When, bright-fac'd day walks through the western gates
XXIV
When bright-fac'd day walks through the western gatesLeaving the soul alone with gloomy night,And all the balm that night's sweet sister owesDispelled is, as if by bright-fac'd day;
Then thoughts will come, that eager day wards off,To trouble quiet; and the oppressed heartAghast is at memorial distressOf signal toils perpetuate in thought.
O happy you! who think that off, somewhereBeyond the embroider'd veil of extreme night,There lies a compensation of the cost,Pity such bitter state, you happy ones.
Should you arise and join that blessed throng,That ye beheld with your still mortal eyes,While unbelief yet fetters my dead soul,Pray for me then, when your souls shall arise.