On the Bridge.
137
Later still the death of day
Folds the landscape in embrace,
And the sluggish river mopes,
Black, and deep, and rippleless;
Sultry, deathly, grew the night,
Dark except that gift of light.
Folds the landscape in embrace,
And the sluggish river mopes,
Black, and deep, and rippleless;
Sultry, deathly, grew the night,
Dark except that gift of light.
Thus it is with present life,
Till folded safe in death's embrace,
He bears us down the silent river,
Dark, and deep, and rippleless;
Tho' long and weary be the way,
The dawn will break in endless day.
Till folded safe in death's embrace,
He bears us down the silent river,
Dark, and deep, and rippleless;
Tho' long and weary be the way,
The dawn will break in endless day.
