 | The book of the dead |  |
150
[LXXII. Through the dark path, o'er which I tread]
Through the dark path, o'er which I tread,
One voice is ever at my ear,
One muffled form deserts the dead,
And haunts my presence far and near.
One voice is ever at my ear,
One muffled form deserts the dead,
And haunts my presence far and near.
In times of doubt, he whispers trust;
In danger, drops a warning word;
And when I waver from the just,
His low, complaining sigh is heard.
In danger, drops a warning word;
And when I waver from the just,
His low, complaining sigh is heard.
He follows me, with patient tread,
From daybreak until evening's close;
He bends beside me, head by head,
To scent the violet or the rose.
From daybreak until evening's close;
He bends beside me, head by head,
To scent the violet or the rose.
And sharing thus my smallest deed,
When all the works of day are past,
And sleep becomes a blessed need,
He lies against my heart at last.
When all the works of day are past,
And sleep becomes a blessed need,
He lies against my heart at last.
151
Dear ghost, I feel no dread of thee;
A gracious comrade thou art grown;
Be near me, cheer, bend over me,
When the long sleep is settling down!
A gracious comrade thou art grown;
Be near me, cheer, bend over me,
When the long sleep is settling down!
| The book of the dead | |