 | The pink book |  |
12
PEACE.
Is there no rest, O soul? is there no rest?
No haven where the ship's sails may be furled;
No quiet isle of vallied calmness set
Beyond the care and fret
And all the mighty misery of the world?
In the young east, in all the crimson west,
Is there no rest?
No haven where the ship's sails may be furled;
No quiet isle of vallied calmness set
Beyond the care and fret
And all the mighty misery of the world?
In the young east, in all the crimson west,
Is there no rest?
Thou, like a bird, belated and distrest,
Fluttering at night over a stormful tide—
Wind-baffled, wing-weary, finding nevermore,
Its own or any shore—
Driftest as darkly over this life's void,
And vainly trying east or trying west,
Findest no rest.
Fluttering at night over a stormful tide—
Wind-baffled, wing-weary, finding nevermore,
Its own or any shore—
Driftest as darkly over this life's void,
And vainly trying east or trying west,
Findest no rest.
But there is rest, O soul! thou shalt find rest.
Be strong, fear not, strive onward through the night,
For somewhere 'mid thy travail, maybe when
All hope has fled thy ken,
Suddenly o'er the waste shall flash a light,
And in a god-like grasping of thy quest
Thou shalt have rest.
Be strong, fear not, strive onward through the night,
For somewhere 'mid thy travail, maybe when
13
Suddenly o'er the waste shall flash a light,
And in a god-like grasping of thy quest
Thou shalt have rest.
| The pink book | |