And when the dawn ariseth, and each is quenched in turn,
Absorbed into the perfect day for which pure spirits yearn;—
Each little flame that struggled to make the night more fair
Shall find its place in Paradise and burn in heavenly air,
And the Father of all Lights shall be its welcome there.
ON THE LAWN
ON the half-frozen lawn, where the early grass was springing,
In the sunny days just over, and where now the frost is lying,