Poems (Procter)/A Tryst with Death
A TRYST WITH DEATH.
AM footsore and very weary,But I travel to meet a Friend:
The way is long and dreary,
But I know that it soon must end.
He is travelling fast like the whirlwind,
And though I creep slowly on,
We are drawing nearer, nearer,
And the journey is almost done.
And though I creep slowly on,
We are drawing nearer, nearer,
And the journey is almost done.
Through the heat of many summers,
Through many a spring-time rain,
Through long autumns and weary winters,
I have hoped to meet him in vain.
Through many a spring-time rain,
Through long autumns and weary winters,
I have hoped to meet him in vain.
I know that he will not fail me,
So I count every hour chime,
Every throb of my own heart's beating,
That tells of the flight of Time.
So I count every hour chime,
Every throb of my own heart's beating,
That tells of the flight of Time.
On the day of my birth he plighted
His kingly word to me:—
I have seen him in dreams so often,
That I know what his smile must be.
His kingly word to me:—
I have seen him in dreams so often,
That I know what his smile must be.
I have toiled through the sunny woodland,
Through fields that basked in the light;
And through the lone paths in the forest
I crept in the dead of night.
Through fields that basked in the light;
And through the lone paths in the forest
I crept in the dead of night.
I will not fear at his coming,
Although I must meet him alone;
He will look in my eyes so gently,
And take my hand in his own.
Although I must meet him alone;
He will look in my eyes so gently,
And take my hand in his own.
Like a dream all my toil will vanish,
When I lay my head on his breast:
But the journey is very weary,
And he only can give me rest!
When I lay my head on his breast:
But the journey is very weary,
And he only can give me rest!