DIMLY burns the beacon-light
On the mountain top to-night;
Faint as whisper ever fell,
Falls the watcher's cry,--"All's well;"
For the clouds have met on high,
And the blast sweeps angry by;
Not a star is seen this night,--
God, preserve the beacon-light!
Lo! a man whom age doth bow
Wanders up the pathway now;
Wistfully his eye he turns
To the light that dimly burns;
And, as it less glow doth shed,
Quicker, quicker is his tread;
And he prays that through the night
God may keep the beacon-light.
Far below him, rocks and waves
Mark the place of others' graves;
Other travellers, who, like him,
Saw the beacon-light burn dim.
But they trusted in their strength
To attain the goal at length;--
This old traveller prays, to-night,
"God, preserve the beacon-light!"
Fainter, fainter is its ray,--
Shall its last gleam pass away?