 | Spindrift |  |
148
MIDNIGHT.
“—To be wroth with one we love,
Doth work like madness in the brain.”
Doth work like madness in the brain.”
I.
Deep and low in the forest searBy weary fits the wind is sighing.
Hush! 'tis the voice of the widowed Year
Mourning above her children's bier:
“My life is lonely, the world is drear—
Linger a while, my children dear,
I, too, am dying;
Let us together hand in hand
Journey down to the shadow-land.”—
The dry leaves rustled to my tread,
And earthward low I bowed my head,
As I thought of life so soon grown old,
Of friendship changed and love a-cold,
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And hope on her deathbed lying.
II.
But, clear and high, in the cloudless skyI saw the great stars gleam and quiver—
I dashed the tear-mist from my eye
And checked the weak, desponding sigh,
As I thought of the love that cannot die,
Of the faith that blooms eternally,
Where—safe for ever
From earthly change—they lie at rest,
Pillowed upon the Saviour's breast—
The Dear Ones of my youth, who died
Ere human folly, sin, or pride,
The white-flower of their love could stain—
Flower that once blighted ne'er again
May bloom! Ah, in this hour of pain,
When faith I leant on with a trust
Supreme has crumbled into dust—
When eyes so loving-kind of yore
Gleam through the dark all blank and frore,
And life's best life seems dead—be near,
Ye blessed ghosts, my soul to cheer
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And youth's sweet dream of trust and truth.
Nor let my heart, thus mocked, grow dry
With that worst infidelity
That doubts all human faith, and holds all love a lie.
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