And see how it swirls and eddies,
Searching fiercely everywhere;
It clasps in an icy embrace,
Flurrying fast through the air.
’Tis so desolate and dreary,
And thought grows heavy with pain,
For it may be that never for me
Will the summer come again.
PEACE.
At last, when the sun is setting,
And the beautiful golden bars
Reach upward through purple splendor,
And mingle their light with the stars;
The winds are hushed to a whisper,
Caressing the leaves and flowers;
And song of birds are rippling
Sweetly in twilight bowers;
I ponder o’er past and present,
And rest from the care and strife—
At peace with all, and storing strength
For the daily battle of life.
ARMAGEDDON.
CHAPTER I.
I know not if ’twas in a vision, or a spirit dream.
’Twas at the noon of day, when fairest summer time serene
Clothed all the world in loveliness; when dazzling light
Streamed o’er the Himalayas, and the grandeur of the sight
Lay all before me, as I stood on that far peerless height,
And saw through spirit eyes the whole world at my feet.
Magnificently grand was that far panoramic view,
And I was lost in wonderment as swift-winged vision flew
From sea to sea, lake, river, stream, and tiny rippling rill,
Far mountains tow’ring to the skies, and rolling plain and hill,
And a thousand verdured swells that like billows roll away
Beyond the horizon’s mystic rim and the far gates of day.