 | Songs of A Wayfarer |  |
CXXXVIII. THE ANCHOR.
Although things earthly are so short and frail;And though the laugh doth wait upon the sigh,
And spring doth woo the blossom but to die;
And summer quickly run to winter's bale;
And iron strength doth sometime bow and fail;—
So soon this mortal being passing by,
Swift pursuivant of immortality,
Like proudest vessel, strikes its swelling sail:
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Shall clear his conscience of uneasy qualms:
His soul within him shall be bright no less
Shut from the music of those silvery psalms
Immortals sing; for, more his life to bless,
He knows that he shall live to strew the palms.
| Songs of A Wayfarer | |