Littell's Living Age/Volume 129/Issue 1672/Then

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Weary, and bruised, and bleeding still
From life's sharp thorns, on, on we come:
Down at our Master's feet we drop,
And here are heaven and home!

Safe at those feet, where joy, and pain,
And all that made life dark or bright,
Seem but a mist beneath the sun
Of our supreme delight.

What matter that the world has frowned,
That fortune ever was unkind,
That plans have failed, and cares have pressed?
All, all is far behind!

What matter now, the hard cold words
That smote us when for love we sought?
What matter now? The goal is reached —
The bitter past is nought.

And we can smile a bright, calm smile
At pains whereby our hearts were riven,
And wonder such small things could touch
A soul bound straight for heaven!

Wake from the dream — our glorious then
Shines like a star above our sight:
Our patient now before us lies,
And duty gives the light.

C. P..
The Month.