 | The Cup of Quietness |  |
37
OUT OF THE DARKNESS
How sorrowful o'er yonder shuddering meres
The mountains bow their heads; no signs remain
Of yesterday's brief gladness; winds complain
And waters wail to Heaven, that hath no ears
For Earth's repining; naught above appears
But restless grey; the valley, blind with rain,
Seemeth a sepulchre where joy lies slain,
The hermitage of woe, the home of tears.
The mountains bow their heads; no signs remain
Of yesterday's brief gladness; winds complain
And waters wail to Heaven, that hath no ears
For Earth's repining; naught above appears
But restless grey; the valley, blind with rain,
Seemeth a sepulchre where joy lies slain,
The hermitage of woe, the home of tears.
So the storm-laden brows of Fate o'erhang
Our troubled life; darkness and mystery
Reward our pleading. Yet, we trust, above
All doubt, all anguish—yea, the supreme pang
Of death itself—abides the eternal sky,
And sovereign influence of the sun of love.
Our troubled life; darkness and mystery
Reward our pleading. Yet, we trust, above
All doubt, all anguish—yea, the supreme pang
Of death itself—abides the eternal sky,
And sovereign influence of the sun of love.
| The Cup of Quietness | |