So all the rest-you know it : Of bygone hours of pain. The dust shall gather on it, I know not why-but tell me A CHAIN. HE bond that links our souls together; As the long hours pass away? Will it stretch if Fate divide us, When dark and weary hours have tried us? Oh, if it look too poor and slight Let us break the links to-night! It was not forged by mortal hands, Or clasped with golden bars and bands, In the bright light it seems to fade— And it is hidden in the shade; While Heaven nor Earth have never heard, Or solemn vow, or plighted word. Yet what no mortal hand could make, And see, though slender, it is made And, too, we know and feel again But through that fiery trial last When earthly ties and bonds are past; What slighter things dare not endure Will make our Love more safe and pure. Love shall be purified by Pain, THE PILGRIMS. HE way is long and dreary, But we will not despair. The snows lie thick around us And the tempest wails above us, Our hearts are faint with sorrow, For we dread the bitter morrow, INCOMPLETENESS. OTHING resting in its own completeness Fuller, higher, deeper than its own. Spring's real glory dwells not in the meaning, To the Summer's richer wealth of flowers. Dawn is fair, because the mists fade slowly Childhood's smiles unconscious graces borrow Life is only bright when it proceedeth Learn the mystery of Progression duly : Nor dare to blame God's gifts for incompleteness; |