Obrázky na stránke
PDF
ePub

Wait, and thy soul shall see, when most forlorn,

Rise a new morn.

Hast thou beneath another's stern control

Bent thy sad soul,
And wasted sacred hopes and precious tears?

Yet calm thy fears,
For thou canst gain, even from the bitterest part,

A stronger heart.

Has Fate o'erwhelmed thee with some sudden blow?

Let thy tears flow; But know when storms are past, the heavens appear

More

pure, more clear; And hope, when farthest from their shining rays,

For brighter days.

Hast thou found life a cheat, and worn in vain

Its iron chain ?
Has thy soul bent beneath earth's heavy bond?

Look thou beyond;
If life is bitter—there for ever shine

Hopes more divine !

Art thou alone, and does thy soul complain

It lives in vain ?
Not vainly does he live who can endure.

Oh be thou sure,
That he who hopes and suffers here can earn

A sure return.

Hast thou found nought within thy troubled life

Save inward strife ? Hast thou found all she promised thee, Deceit,

And Hope a cheat? Endure, and there shall dawn within thy breast

Eternal rest!

[graphic]

HOME AT LAST.

WHILD, do not fear;

We shall reach our home to-night,

For the sky is clear,

And the waters bright;
And the breezes have scarcely strength
To unfold that little cloud,

That like a shroud
Spreads out its fleecy length;

Then have no fear,
As we cleave our silver way

Through the waters clear.

[graphic]

Fear not, my child!
Though the waves are white and high,
And the storm blows wild

Through the gloomy sky;
On the edge of the western sea,

See that line of golden light,

Is the haven bright Where home is awaiting thee.

Where, this peril past, We shall rest from our stormy voyage

In

peace at last.

Be not afraid;
But give me thy hand, and see
How the waves have made

A cradle for thee.
Night is come, dear, and we shall rest;
So turn from the

angry skies, And close thine eyes, And lay thy head on my breast:

Child, do not weep;
In the calm, cold, purple depths

There we shall sleep.

UNEXPRESSED.

[graphic]

WELLS within the soul of

every Artist More than all his effort can express ; And he knows the best remains unut

tered; Sighing at what we call his success.

Vainly he may strive; he dare not tell us
All the sacred mysteries of the skies :
Vainly he may strive; the deepest beauty
Cannot be unveiled to mortal eyes.

And the more devoutly that he listens,
And the holier message that is sent,
Still the more his soul must struggle vainly,
Bowed beneath a noble discontent.

« PredošláPokračovať »