NOCTURNE.
There'll come a day when the supremest splendor
Of earth or sky or sea,
Whate'er their miracles, sublime or tender,
Will wake no joy in me.
There'll come a day when all the aspiration,
Now with such fervor fraught,
As lifts to heights of breathless exaltation,
Will seem a thing of naught.
There'll come a day when riches, honor, glory,
Music and song and art,
Will look like puppets in a wornout story,
Where each has played his part.
There'll come a day when human love, the sweetest
Gift that includes the whole
Of God's grand giving—sovereignest, completest—
Shall fail to fill my soul.
There'll come a day—I will not care how passes
The cloud across my sight,
If only, lark-like, from earth's nested grasses,
I spring to meet its light.
Margaret J. Preston.
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