Part 13

The shadows grew longer and longer, The evening wind passed by, And the purple splendour of sunset Was flooding the western sky.

But I could not leave my spinning, For so fair my dream had grown. I heeded not, hour by hour, How the silent day had flown.

At last the grey shadows fell round me, And the night came dark and chill, And I rose and ran down the valley, And left it all on the hill.

I went up the hill this morning To the place where my spinning lay-- There was nothing but glistening dewdrops Remained of my dream to-day.

VERSE: THE PRESENT

Do not crouch to-day, and worship The old Past, whose life is fled, Hush your voice to tender reverence; Crowned he lies, but cold and dead: For the Present reigns our monarch, With an added weight of hours; Honour her, for she is mighty! Honour her, for she is ours!

See the shadows of his heroes Girt around her cloudy throne; Every day the ranks are strengthened By great hearts to him unknown; Noble things the great Past promised, Holy dreams, both strange and new; But the Present shall fulfil them, What he promised, she shall do.

She inherits all his treasures, She is heir to all his fame, And the light that lightens round her Is the lustre of his name; She is wise with all his wisdom, Living on his grave she stands, On her brow she bears his laurels, And his harvest in her hands.

Coward, can she reign and conquer If we thus her glory dim? Let us fight for her as nobly As our fathers fought for him. God, who crowns the dying ages, Bids her rule, and us obey-- Bids us cast our lives before her, Bids us serve the great To-day.

VERSE: CHANGES

Mourn, O rejoicing heart! The hours are flying; Each one some treasure takes, Each one some blossom breaks, And leaves it dying; The chill dark night draws near, Thy sun will soon depart, And leave thee sighing; Then mourn, rejoicing heart, The hours are flying!

Rejoice, O grieving heart! The hours fly fast; With each some sorrow dies, With each some shadow flies, Until at last The red dawn in the east Bids weary night depart, And pain is past. Rejoice then, grieving heart, The hours fly fast!

VERSE: STRIVE, WAIT, AND PRAY

Strive; yet I do not promise The prize you dream of to-day Will not fade when you think to grasp it, And melt in your hand away; But another and holier treasure, You would now perchance disdain, Will come when your toil is over, And pay you for all your pain.

Wait; yet I do not tell you The hour you long for now, Will not come with its radiance vanished, And a shadow upon its brow; Yet far through the misty future, With a crown of starry light, An hour of joy you know not Is winging her silent flight.

Pray; though the gift you ask for May never comfort your fears, May never repay your pleading, Yet pray, and with hopeful tears; An answer, not that you long for, But diviner, will come one day, Your eyes are too dim to see it, Yet strive, and wait, and pray.

VERSE: A LAMENT FOR THE SUMMER

Moan, oh ye Autumn Winds! Summer has fled, The flowers have closed their tender leaves and die; The Lily's gracious head All low must lie, Because the gentle Summer now is dead.

Grieve, oh ye Autumn Winds! Summer lies low; The rose's trembling leaves will soon be shed, For she that loved her so, Alas, is dead! And one by one her loving children go.

Wail, oh ye Autumn Winds! She lives no more, The gentle Summer, with her balmy breath, Still sweeter than before When nearer death, And brighter every day the smile she wore!

Mourn, mourn, oh Autumn Winds, Lament and mourn; How many half-blown buds must close and die; Hopes with the Summer born All faded lie, And leave us desolate and Earth forlorn!

VERSE: THE UNKNOWN GRAVE

No name to bid us know Who rests below, No word of death or birth, Only the grass's wave, Over a mound of earth, Over a nameless grave.

Did this poor wandering heart In pain depart? Longing, but all too late, For the calm home again, Where patient watchers wait, And still will wait in vain.

Did mourners come in scorn, And thus forlorn, Leave him, with grief and shame. To silence and decay, And hide the tarnished name Of the unconscious clay?

It may be from his side His loved ones died, And last of some bright band, (Together now once more,) He sought his home, the land Where they had gone before.

No matter--limes have made As cool a shade, And lingering breezes pass As tenderly and slow, As if beneath the grass A monarch slept below.

No grief, though loud and deep, Could stir that sleep; And earth and heaven tell Of rest that shall not cease, Where the cold world's farewell Fades into endless peace.