There shall we, resting, all forget the past,
At last.

The sorrows we have hid in silent weariness,
As birds above a wounded, bleeding breast,
Their bright plumes cast;
The griefs like mourners in a dark array,
That haunt our footsteps here, will flee away,
And leave us to forget the sorrowful past,
At last.

Voices we loved sound from those far-off lands,
And thrill our hearts; life's golden sands
Are dropping fast;
Soon shall we meet by the river of peace, and say,
As the night flees before the eye of day,
So faded from our eyes the mournful past,
At last.



TWILIGHT.


Draped in shadows stands the mountain
Against the eastern sky,
Above it the fair summer moon
Looks downward tenderly;
And Venus in the glowing west,
Opens her languid eye.