They who sought Truth since dawn
And sought in vain,
Now, at the close of day.
Come with slow step and faces drawn
With nameless pain,
To meet the night half-way.
"She whom we love is not!
Of her no sight
Had we, nor faintest trace!"
"Nay, here am I ye sought!"—
Beyond the night
They met her, face to face.
FRANCIS CHARLES MCDONALD. Nassau Literary Monthly.
~To-morrow.~
There is a day which never comes
To light the morning sky,
But in our thoughts alone it lives,
And there may never die;
It holds our hopes of future bliss,
Our aspirations high,
And life itself is but a point
In that eternity—
To-morrow.
Each sunset brings us nearer that
Which earth shall not behold,
Where, far away beyond the hills
And through the clouds of gold,
We see a glimpse of brighter hours
Than tongue of bard has told,
When marks of time will be effaced,
When men will not grow old—
To-morrow.
WILBUR DANIEL SPENCER. Dartmouth Literary Monthly.
~From My Window.~
I sit within my little room
And see the world pass by,
The merry, youthful, thoughtless world,
That knows not I am I.
I watch it from my window ledge
Below me, at its play—
It makes an end of foolish things,
And thinks the sad ones gay.