One day the song that drifts upon the wind,
I shall not hear;
Nor shall the rosy shoots to eyes grown blind
Again appear.
Deaf, in the dark, I shall arise and throw
From off my soul,
The withered world with all its joy and woe,
That was my goal.
I shall arise, and like a shooting star
Slip from my place;
So lingering see the old world from afar
Revolve in space.
And know more things than all the wise may know
Till all be done;
Till One shall come who, breathing on the stars,
Blows out the sun.
A NEW YEAR
Behold! a new white world!
The falling snow
Has cloaked the last old year
And bid him go.
To-morrow! cries the oak-tree
To his heart,
My sealèd buds shall fling
Their leaves apart.
To-morrow! pipes the robin,
And again
How sweet the nest that long
Was full of rain.
To-morrow! bleats the sheep,
And one by one
My little lambs shall frolic
’Neath the sun.
For us, too, let some fair
To-morrow be,
O Thou who weavest threads
Of Destiny!