the midnight vigil.
141
Vainly my soul hath struggled;—from her clasp
Life's earliest, dearest joy is torn away!
Her deepest, tenderest, thrice-blessed love,
A holy lamp within a sacred shrine,
Is dying out upon this midnight air!
Life's earliest, dearest joy is torn away!
Her deepest, tenderest, thrice-blessed love,
A holy lamp within a sacred shrine,
Is dying out upon this midnight air!
O soul, so strong with hope and high resolve,
Brave and exultant once, but shrinking, faint,
Now, while the wine-press of a mortal grief
Thy steps are treading painfully and slow!
O heart that once unfolded into life,
Flower-like in gladness, lifting up toward heaven
A chalice for its sunshine and its dews,—
That drank in freshness with the morning hours,
And swayed to pleasant airs the livelong day,
Now, bruised and broken, bleed thyself away,
Earth cold beneath, and heaven all dark above!
Brave and exultant once, but shrinking, faint,
Now, while the wine-press of a mortal grief
Thy steps are treading painfully and slow!
O heart that once unfolded into life,
Flower-like in gladness, lifting up toward heaven
A chalice for its sunshine and its dews,—
That drank in freshness with the morning hours,
And swayed to pleasant airs the livelong day,
Now, bruised and broken, bleed thyself away,
Earth cold beneath, and heaven all dark above!
This voice hath grown a stranger to mine ear;
Faltering and sad its tones that lately rung
Such merry changes,—and the eyes that smiled,
And looked contentment from their deepest depths,
Grow wild, and darken with a great despair.
Faltering and sad its tones that lately rung
Such merry changes,—and the eyes that smiled,
And looked contentment from their deepest depths,
Grow wild, and darken with a great despair.
Silent I sit amid the waste of grief,
The desolation, the tempestuous gloom,
The desolation, the tempestuous gloom,
