NO MESSAGE
He waited till the light-house star
Should rise against the sky;
And from the mainland, looming far,
The forest scents blow by.
Should rise against the sky;
And from the mainland, looming far,
The forest scents blow by.
He hoped to tell—assurance sweet!—
That pain and grief were o’er—
What blessings haste the soul to meet,
Ere yet within the door.
That pain and grief were o’er—
What blessings haste the soul to meet,
Ere yet within the door.
Then one farewell he thought to speak
When all the rest were past—
As in the parting-hour we seek
The dearest hand the last.
When all the rest were past—
As in the parting-hour we seek
The dearest hand the last.
And while for this delaying but
To see Heaven’s opening Gate—
Lo, it received him—and was shut—
Ere he could say “I wait.”
To see Heaven’s opening Gate—
Lo, it received him—and was shut—
Ere he could say “I wait.”
HAPPY DAYS
A fringe of rushes—one green line
Upon a faded plain;
A silver streak of water-shine—
Above, tree-watchers twain.
It was our resting-place awhile,
And still, with backward gaze,
We say: “’Tis many a weary mile—
But there were happy days.”
Upon a faded plain;
A silver streak of water-shine—
Above, tree-watchers twain.
It was our resting-place awhile,
And still, with backward gaze,
We say: “’Tis many a weary mile—
But there were happy days.”
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