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I thank you for the cherished hope of years,
I thank you, yes, I thank you even more
I thank you, and no grief is in these tears;
Yet how much more I thank you that you tore
I thank you that you taught me the stern truth, (None other could have told and I believed,) That vain had been my life, and I deceived, And wasted all the purpose of my youth.
I thank you that your hand dashed down the shrine, Wherein my idol worship I had paid;
Else had I never known a soul was made To serve and worship only the Divine.
I thank you that the heart I cast away
On such as you, though broken, bruised and crushed,
Now that its fiery throbbing is all hushed, Upon a worthier altar I can lay.
I thank you for the lesson that such love
I thank you for a terrible awaking,
And if reproach seemed hidden in my pain, And sorrow seemed to cry on your disdain, Know that my blessing lay in your forsaking.
Farewell for ever now :-in peace we part;
Arise before your soul in after
Remember that I thank you
THE GOLDEN GATE.
IM shadows gather thickly round, and up the misty stair they climb,
The cloudy stair that upward leads to where the closed portals shine,
Round which the kneeling spirits wait the opening of the Golden Gate.
And some with eager longing go, still pressing forward, hand in hand,
And some with weary step and slow, look back where their Beloved stand—
Yet up the misty stair they climb, led onward by the Angel Time.
As unseen hands roll back the doors, the light that
Is but the shadow from within, of the great glory
And morn and eve, and soon and late, the shadows pass within the gate.
As one by one they enter in, and the stern portals close once more,
The halo seems to linger round those kneeling closest to the door:
The joy that lightened from that place shines still the watcher's face.
The faint low echo that we hear of far-off music
seems to fill
The silent air with love and fear, and the world's clamours all grow still,
Until the portals close again, and leave us toiling on in pain.
Complain not that the way is long—what road is weary that leads there?
But let the Angel take thy hand, and lead thee up the misty stair,
And then with beating heart await, the opening of
the Golden Gate.
ACK, ye Phantoms of the Past;
What have I to do with memories
Of a long-forgotten pain?
For my Present is all peaceful,
And my Future nobly planned:
Back into your caves; nor haunt me
I have buried grief and sorrow
See the glorious clouds of morning