Only a world of sorrow,
The lips you love, the hands you clasp,
Are cold and strange to-morrow.
Mists on the stream of by-gone days,
Where are your childhood bowers?
Mists on the path of coming years.
Where are your household flowers?"

I looked again; a sunbeam bright
Had shot through the heavy mist;
It drew the rose to its glowing breast,
And the morning glories kissed.
The spire of the Ascension Church
Flashed out like St. 'Michael's sword,
When girt with glowing armor, he
Doeth battle for his Lord.

Each moment some high roof or tower,
Some flush of the maple leaves,
Grew fair to sight, the birdlings sang
In nests on the sun-lit eaves;
And Nature bathed in living light,
As if she renewed her birth,
The Universal Father smiled
Through his sunbeam, on the earth.

"Ah, now my heart, so sad and cold
With mists of its repining,
What will thou say to see once more
The cloud with silver lining?"