 | Jones Very : The Complete Poems |  |
Then shall all the tribes of the earth mourn
The day, the day, 'tis changed to darkest night!There is no beauty in its morning beams,
But men run to and fro within its light
As haunted by the thought of horrid dreams;
They do not speak of what they spoke before,
Nor greet each other now with wonted smile;
Their hearts are pricked within them to the core,
Nor can the sight of aught their pain beguile;
Within their homes they hush the notes of joy,
For like a snare their sorrow has come on;
The slightest burthens now their souls annoy,
And in an instant all their mirth is gone;
For he who long has tarried is at hand,
And comes Himself his vineyard to demand.
Poem No. 486; fall 1838–summer 1839
| Jones Very : The Complete Poems | |