(Too early worn and grimed) with sweet Cool deathly touch to these tired feet, Till days go out which now go on.

Only to lift the turf unmown

From off the earth where it has grown,
Some cubit-space, and say, "Behold!
Creep in, poor Heart, beneath that fold,
Forgetting how the days go on."

What harm would that do? Green anon
The sward would quicken, overshone
By skies as blue; and crickets might
Have leave to chirp there day and night
While my new rest went on, went on.

From gracious Nature have I won
Such liberal bounty? May I run

So, lizard-like, within her side,

And there be safe, who now am tried

By days that painfully go on?

-A Voice reproves me thereupon,

More sweet than Nature's, when the drone

Of bees is sweetest, and more deep,
Than when the rivers overleap

The shuddering pines, and thunder on.

God's Voice, not Nature's-night and noon
He sits upon the great white throne
And listens for the creatures' praise.
What babble we of days and days?
The Dayspring He, whose days go on.

DE PROFUNDIS.

He reigns above, he reigns alone:
Systems burn out and leave His throne
Fair mists of seraphs melt and fall
Around Him, changeless amid all!
Ancient of days, whose days go on!

He reigns below, He reigns alone,-
And having life in love foregone
Beneath the crown of sovran thorns,
He reigns the jealous God. Who mourns
Or rules with HIM, while days go on?

By anguish which made pale the sun,
I hear Him charge his saints that none
Among the creatures anywhere
Blaspheme against Him with despair,
However darkly days go on.

-Take from my head the thorn-wreath brown!

No mortal grief deserves that crown.

O supreme Love, chief misery,

The sharp regalia are for Thee
Whose days eternally go on!

289

Perhaps the cup was broken here

That heaven's new wine might show more clear.

I praise Thee while my days go on.

I praise Thee while my days go on;

I love Thee while my days go on!

Through dark and dearth, through fire and frost,
With emptied arms and treasure lost,
I thank Thee while my days go on!

And, having in thy life-depth thrown
Being and suffering (which are one),
As a child drops some pebble small
Down some deep well and hears it fall,
Smiling. SO I THY DAYS GO ON!

...

Life.

HORT days flying, swift years rolling
Downward toward eternity;

Ere we understand our longings
Oft the open grave we see.

Cares and wishes crowd together,

Changing ever in the breast:

With the morning comes the knowledge,
Joy fulfilled can give no rest.
Schemes of life and plans for living
Fancy bids us ever try,
But their sweet fulfillment never

Brings us that for which we sigh.
Young, we fancy pleasure deathless,
A far-stretching wonder-land;
Soon it fades, and sorrow follows;
On the desert waste we stand.

Yes, from out the brightest morning
Oft we harvest bitter pain,
Joys soon past, or lightly gathered,—
Life so fruitless and so vain!
Ah! what weary hours of longing

Lost occasion brings the mind!
How the wounded soul may languish,
Never balm or healing find!

Then, when evening closes on thee,
Weep not as thine hours depart;

Only peace and holy stillness
Gather close within thine heart.
Then, the woes of life forgetting,
From its stain and guilt set free,
Will thy last and lowly pillow

Like the tender rose-leaf be.

Tears, Idle Tears.

EARS, idle tears, I know not what they mean;
Tears from the depth of some divine despair
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes

In looking on the happy autumn fields,
And thinking of the days that are no more.

Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail
That brings our friends up from the under world,
Sad as the last which reddens over one
That sinks with all we love below the verge;

So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.

Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns
The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds
To dying ears, when unto dying eyes

The casement slowly grows a glimmering square;
So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.
Dear as remembered kisses after death,
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned
On lips that are for others; deep as love,
Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;
O Death in Life, the days that are no more.