 | Poems by Elizabeth Akers (Florence Percy) |  |
61
THE MOUNTAINS.
Sitting alone in this silent room,
Blinded with weeping, and sick and strange,
I see it, whitening out of the gloom,
A chill and sorrowful mountain range.
Blinded with weeping, and sick and strange,
I see it, whitening out of the gloom,
A chill and sorrowful mountain range.
Never o'er summit or sweep or slope
A gleam of gladness or pleasure thrills,
Never a glimmer of joy or hope
Blesses or brightens these desolate hills.
A gleam of gladness or pleasure thrills,
Never a glimmer of joy or hope
Blesses or brightens these desolate hills.
All the winds which over them blow
Are sighs too bitter to brook control,
And all the freshening rains they know
Are hot tears wrung from a stricken soul.
Are sighs too bitter to brook control,
And all the freshening rains they know
Are hot tears wrung from a stricken soul.
First is a pallid, smileless Face,
Turned forever away from tears;
Then two pale Hands, which will keep their place,
Folded from labor through all the years;
Turned forever away from tears;
Then two pale Hands, which will keep their place,
Folded from labor through all the years;
62
Then the Knees, which will never bow,
Never bend or obey again;
And then the motionless Feet, which now
Are done with walking in sun and rain.
Never bend or obey again;
And then the motionless Feet, which now
Are done with walking in sun and rain.
These are the mountains; and over all
Sinks and settles the winding-sheet,
Following sharply each rise and fall
From the pallid face to the quiet feet.
Sinks and settles the winding-sheet,
Following sharply each rise and fall
From the pallid face to the quiet feet.
These are the mountains which through the gloom
Rising whitely and cold I see,
Sloping into the shadowy tomb,—
The mournful hills of mortality.
Rising whitely and cold I see,
Sloping into the shadowy tomb,—
The mournful hills of mortality.
And of all the dear ones whose souls have crossed
These terrible summits in fear and pain,
We only know they are gone and lost,
And never return to our arms again.
These terrible summits in fear and pain,
We only know they are gone and lost,
And never return to our arms again.
So we wander and grope in our earthly clime,
Fettered and cramped by this mortal bond,
Watching the mountains from time to time,
And questioning vainly the dim beyond.
Fettered and cramped by this mortal bond,
Watching the mountains from time to time,
And questioning vainly the dim beyond.
| Poems by Elizabeth Akers (Florence Percy) | |