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I thank you for the cherished hope of years,
A starry future, dim and yet divine,
Winging its way from Heaven to be mine,
Laden with joy, and ignorant of tears.

I thank you, yes, I thank you even more
That my heart learnt not without love to live,
But gave and gave, and still had more to give,
From an abundant and exhaustless store.

I thank you, and no grief is in these tears;
I thank you, not in bitterness but truth,
For the fair vision that adorned my youth
And glorified so many happy years.

Yet how much more I thank you that you tore
At length the veil your hand had woven away,
Which hid my idol was a thing of clay,
And false the altar I had knelt before.

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
Is a perverting of God's royal right,
That it is made but for the Infinite,
And all too great to live except above.

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;
And should an idle vision of my tears

Arise before your soul in after

Remember that I thank you


from my



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

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Is but the shadow from within, of the great glory

hidden there—

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;
In your dreary caves remain :

What have I to do with memories

Of a long-forgotten pain?

For my Present is all peaceful,

And my Future nobly planned:
Long ago Time's mighty billows
Swept your footsteps from the sand.

Back into your caves; nor haunt me
With your voices full of woe;

I have buried grief and sorrow
In the depths of Long-ago.

See the glorious clouds of morning
Roll away, and clear and bright
Shine the rays of cloudless daylight,-
Wherefore will ye moan of night?

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