Erase the hour from out Thy calendar,
Turn back the hands upon the clock of Time,
Oh, Artificer of destroying War—
Their righteous hate who bore us in our crime!"
"Upon the children!"—'Tis the cold reply
Of Him who makes to those who must not die.
YET LIFE IS SWEET
Yet life is sweet. Thy soul hath breathed along,
Thine eyes have cast their glory on the earth,
Thy foot hath touched it, and thine hour of birth
Didst give a new pulse to the veins of song.
Better to stand amid the toppling towers
Of every valiant hope; a Samson's dream,
Than the deep indolence of Lethe's stream,
The loneliness of slow submerging hours.
Better, oh, better thus to see the wreck,
And to have rocked to motion of the spheres;
Better, oh, better to have trod the deck
Of hope, and sailed the unmanageable years-
Ay, better to have paid the price, and known,
Than never felt this tyrannous Alone!
LOST FOOTSTEPS
Upon the disc of Love's bright planet fell
A darkness yestereve, and from your lips
I heard cold words; then came a swift eclipse
Of joy at meeting on hope's it-is-well.
And if I spoke with sadness and with fear;
If from your gentle coldness I drew back,
And felt that I had lost the flowery track
That led to peace in Love's sweet atmosphere: