Of the golden summer eves,
Shrined in the mists of years
And a world of hopes! Dear God, what hopes,
Born to the soul in tears.
But the youthful hopes creep by,
Stealing with solemn chime
To a finite grave. They will rise in faith
When Eternity conquers Time.
Dream-laden, tender song,
Sacred and sweet and old,
With the lingering touch of a bygone age,
I have scanned again in thy down-turned page,
A tale that was long since told.
The Sinner's Dreaming
When the great sun flung bands of gold
(Bands to the number of seven)
On the limpid sea, we followed the gold
And climbed on our way to Heaven.
There to the portals of cloud and storm,
Piled high in the regions of thunder,
Till we reached the sky, in its columns of storm,
And God's gates rolled asunder.
Below, the world like a ball of mist
With us, pearl and jacinth and beryl,
And it faded away, that pearl-grey mist,
And we clung to the gates in peril.
Myrrh and incense, and jacinth and pearl,
How we cringed on the floor of Heaven!
And the great sun drew its bands from the pearl.
Bands to the number of seven.