And I am not wise:
And now when I listen for the voice of God—
I cannot hear it.
A Contrast
By Laura Simmons
Across the gloom a shadow flits; I glimpse a sodden face
Wherein the years of sin and care, and toil have left their trace.
A wanton laugh;—I mark no more, for yonder in the glow
One waiteth me—my love! my star! with welcoming, I know.
Tender and fine is she, withal so stately sweet and fair