So out of the void, a sound
From the vast dim space, a breath
That fanned the flickering flame of life
Till it flared, went out, and ended the strife—
I slept, and the sleep was Death.
Voices.
My heart within me stirred with a nameless trouble and dread
Of evil that should betide, and a voice in my bosom said:
"What pause from this weary toiling, what end to this endless strife?
The day bringeth naught but labor, and death follows hard upon life;
Ever I see the false one triumphing over the true,
The foul outbalance the fair, the many oppressed by the few.
Answer me, mortal master, after the battle is fought,
Six feet of earth for a couch, mayhap a stone, then—what?"
How could I answer my heart? When suddenly in my breast
There fell a hush as of a wind sinking at eve to rest;
The voice within me was stilled, and I felt its murmuring cease,
For somewhere out of infinity an angel had whispered "Peace."
Fifty Years Hence.
Again 'twas night, and on the wave
The moon in silver lay;
Vanished had all the petty cares
And troubles of the day.
No sound in all the wide expanse,
No rustle in the wood,
Save when some evening zephyr stirred
In whispers on the flood.
Breathless and motionless she stood,
Unquestioningly dumb,
Twas as a world were waiting there—
Waiting for God to come.
Then back, through long dead years, her heart
Winged its reflective flight,
To ponder childhood's days again,
To muse on past delight.
A mist came o'er her eyes, her gaze
Had spanned the wide gulf o'er,
Old voices spake, old scenes recurred,
Old friendship lived once more.
Serene the skies, no fear, no care,
No tempest and no storm,
Wild birds and sunshine in the air,
And south winds sweet and warm.