These quiet autumn days,
My soul, like Noah's dove, on airy wings
Goes out, and searches for the hidden things,
Beyond the hills of haze.
With mournful, pleading cries
Above the waters of the voiceless sea
That laps the shores of broad Eternity,
Day after day it flies.
Searching, but all in vain,
For some stray leaf that it may light upon,
And read the future as the days agone--
Its pleasure and its pain.
Listening, patiently,
For some voice speaking from the mighty deep,
Revealing all the secrets it doth keep,
In silence, there for me.
Come back and wait! my soul,
Day after day thy search has been in vain,
Voiceless and silent o'er the future's plain
Its mystic waters roll.
God seeing, knoweth best,
And in his time the waters shall subside,
And thou shalt know what lies beneath the tide.
Then wait, my soul, and rest.
1869
[DAFT]
In the warm yellow smile of the morning,
She stands at the lattice pane.
And watches the strong young binders
Stride down to the fields of grain;
And she counts the over and over
As they pass the cottage door:
Are they six? she counts them seven--
Are they seven? she counts one more.
When the sun swings high in the heavens,
And the reapers go shouting home,
She calls to the household, saying
"Make haste! for the binders have come!
And Johnnie will want his dinner--
He was always a hungry child;"
And they answer, "Yes, it is waiting;"
Then tell you, "Her brain is wild."