To each of us must come a day like this one now and then,
A day when all the mists of old enwrap the soul again.
Last night, a smile upon my lips, I gave myself to rest,
To-day awoke by ancient ill, by hurts of old, oppressed.
I know not why these shadows come, these shades of vain desire,
I do but know they creeping come to sit beside the fire;
And earth is but an empty place, and joy has flickered out,
And faith has fallen by the hand, assassin hand, of doubt.
I only ask in such an hour, when such shall come to me,
I only ask in such an hour that You are there to see,