Whither away,--whither away?

Out of the world, Oh! the weary world,
With its empty pleasures, and poison'd joys,
Whose draught first gladdens, and then destroys--
Out of the world, out of the world,
With shatter'd hopes, and with feeble frame,
From Life's sharp struggle, and unsped aim,--
Out of the world, Oh! the weary world.

Whither away, poor one, whither away?
Hurrying swiftly, with weeping eyes,
And hectic cheeks, and smother'd sighs,
Whither away--whither away?

Out of the world, oh! the cold, cold world!
Oh! Father, my heart ... but there is rest
For the sinking soul, and the bruisèd breast,
Out of the world--out of the world!





THE MORNING STAR.


Night's heavy hand is lifted up at last,
And my freed heart beats evenly again,
Unpress'd by that dull heavy weight of pain