 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
THE TIDE OF TEARS.
There is a Tide that never ebbs,
And murmurs through the years—
That weaves its flowers in fatal webs—
The tide of human tears.
And murmurs through the years—
That weaves its flowers in fatal webs—
The tide of human tears.
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And fair it is with waving weeds,
That snare the straying feet;
With many a dancing light that leads,
To ruin dark and fleet.
That snare the straying feet;
With many a dancing light that leads,
To ruin dark and fleet.
It washes on the strand of Life,
And freshens as it flows;
For ever fed by streams of strife,
And widening with our woes.
And freshens as it flows;
For ever fed by streams of strife,
And widening with our woes.
With passion strange it sternly keeps,
Its dim and dreary track;
While every barrier only heaps,
New victims on its wrack.
Its dim and dreary track;
While every barrier only heaps,
New victims on its wrack.
Lo, mournful figures by the marge,
Go weeping to and fro;
And through its shadows dense and large,
Drop echoes sad and slow.
Go weeping to and fro;
And through its shadows dense and large,
Drop echoes sad and slow.
And tossing arms and trailing hair,
Come floating on its mist;
With faces warped by cruel care,
That vainly lean and list.
Come floating on its mist;
With faces warped by cruel care,
That vainly lean and list.
Its birth was in the budding times,
That were the birth of man;
And with the dawn of happy chimes,
Its murmur first began.
That were the birth of man;
And with the dawn of happy chimes,
Its murmur first began.
We see from far the weary sight,
While catching on the breeze,
Borne through the silence and the night,
The sound of solemn seas.
While catching on the breeze,
Borne through the silence and the night,
The sound of solemn seas.
Till nearer yet and nearer heaves,
The torrent's barren march;
Through blighted ears and blasted sheaves,
That rainbows may not arch.
The torrent's barren march;
Through blighted ears and blasted sheaves,
That rainbows may not arch.
It deepens as it drags its course,
And angrier grows its beat;
And in the refuge of remorse,
Its foam is at our feet.
And angrier grows its beat;
And in the refuge of remorse,
Its foam is at our feet.
O think not, reveller, in thy joys,
This flood will never flow;
'Tis gliding without note or noise,
And sapping from below.
This flood will never flow;
'Tis gliding without note or noise,
And sapping from below.
The less thy sorrow is at first,
When green is lifetime's leaf;
The more thy evening will be cursed,
With grayer hours of grief.
When green is lifetime's leaf;
The more thy evening will be cursed,
With grayer hours of grief.
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Fair is the morning of our youth,
And fond the noontide's gleams;
But settle round the roots of truth,
The broad and bitter streams.
And fond the noontide's gleams;
But settle round the roots of truth,
The broad and bitter streams.
There is a Tide that never stays,
And follows on our fears;
That waxes with the waning days;
The tide of human tears.
And follows on our fears;
That waxes with the waning days;
The tide of human tears.
And drop by drop, and wave on wave,
It gathers strength and store;
And from the cradle to the grave,
It murmurs evermore.
It gathers strength and store;
And from the cradle to the grave,
It murmurs evermore.
We know not whence its rivers come,
Nor whither they may go;
For these are sorrowfully dumb,
And those are wild with woe.
Nor whither they may go;
For these are sorrowfully dumb,
And those are wild with woe.
While some in radiant daylight rise,
Where mirth is sweetly made;
Some wander under starry skies,
And wither bloom and blade.
Where mirth is sweetly made;
Some wander under starry skies,
And wither bloom and blade.
And now the path is fringed with flowers,
Though trouble be not far;
And now it lies through lonely hours,
Or leaps some chafing bar.
Though trouble be not far;
And now it lies through lonely hours,
Or leaps some chafing bar.
And here there is a hungry rush,
Of currents loud and long;
And there they delicately gush,
With sudden bursts of song.
Of currents loud and long;
And there they delicately gush,
With sudden bursts of song.
But all are restless still and sad,
And every fashion prove;
They have the strain they ever had,
And murmur as they move.
And every fashion prove;
They have the strain they ever had,
And murmur as they move.
They pass from shadow into shade,
And hide their bourne and source;
We see our dreams and darlings fade,
And so we track their course.
And hide their bourne and source;
We see our dreams and darlings fade,
And so we track their course.
And if they bear no common name,
Though dimly sharing much;
Their deadly nature is the same,
To darken what they touch.
Though dimly sharing much;
Their deadly nature is the same,
To darken what they touch.
But wave on wave, and drop by drop,
They surely hurry on;
And ere we strive its march to stop,
The fatal flood is gone.
They surely hurry on;
And ere we strive its march to stop,
The fatal flood is gone.
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Yet holy still may be its track,
And fresh from wellsprings sweet
That after many days comes back,
With gladness to its seat.
And fresh from wellsprings sweet
That after many days comes back,
With gladness to its seat.
Though salt and sad the waters taste,
And troubled be their sound;
Though wide and weary be the waste,
That marks their moving bcund.
And troubled be their sound;
Though wide and weary be the waste,
That marks their moving bcund.
But faith that follows to the fount,
Where never mortal trod;
Will trace them to the heavenly mount,
And to the throne of God.
Where never mortal trod;
Will trace them to the heavenly mount,
And to the throne of God.
Tears fill in Love their silver urns,
And flow from Mercy's feet;
And unto God their stream returns,
Where Love and Mercy meet.
And flow from Mercy's feet;
And unto God their stream returns,
Where Love and Mercy meet.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |