192
My darkest hours, my bitterest tears,
May turn to smiles at last,—
But who can e'er recall again
The sins that stain the past?
May turn to smiles at last,—
But who can e'er recall again
The sins that stain the past?
It is not happiness gone by,
It is not bitterest woes,
That deepest shade my fleeting hours,
Now hastening to their close.
The memories of the loved and lost
A gentle shadow cast,—
For they, ye trust, may bless the hour
That gave them peace at last.
It is not bitterest woes,
That deepest shade my fleeting hours,
Now hastening to their close.
The memories of the loved and lost
A gentle shadow cast,—
For they, ye trust, may bless the hour
That gave them peace at last.
But consciousness of powers misused,
Time lost, for ever flown,
The sins of thought, and word, and deed,
The best, alas! must own;
These form that spectre of the past,
Which still at times will rise,
These make the hours once bright and gay,
Now mournful in thine eyes.
Time lost, for ever flown,
The sins of thought, and word, and deed,
The best, alas! must own;
These form that spectre of the past,
Which still at times will rise,
These make the hours once bright and gay,
Now mournful in thine eyes.
Yet, ere for ever I depart,
My last monition hear,—
Gird up thy loins, arise and live
A life of faith and fear;
Short is the time, and great the work
Thou must accomplish well:
No warning voice may sound again;
Then rouse thee, and farewell.
My last monition hear,—
Gird up thy loins, arise and live
A life of faith and fear;
Short is the time, and great the work
Thou must accomplish well:
No warning voice may sound again;
Then rouse thee, and farewell.
E.
December 51, 1846.
