poems by mary baker eddy
65
TO ELLEN. "SING ME THAT SONG!"
SING me that song! My spirit is sad,Life's pulses move fitful and slow;
A meeting with loved ones in dreams I have had,
Whose robes were as spotless as snow:
A phantom of joy, it fled with the light,
And left but a parting in air.
My soul is enchained to life's dreary night,
O sing me "Sweet hour of prayer"!
Ah, sleep, twin sister of death and of night!
My thoughts 'neath thy drap'ry still lie.
Alas! that from dreams so boundless and bright
We waken to life's dreary sigh.
Those moments most sweet are fleetest alway,
For love claspeth earth's raptures not long,
Till darkness and death like mist melt away,
To rise to a seraph's new song.
My thoughts 'neath thy drap'ry still lie.
Alas! that from dreams so boundless and bright
We waken to life's dreary sigh.
Those moments most sweet are fleetest alway,
For love claspeth earth's raptures not long,
Till darkness and death like mist melt away,
To rise to a seraph's new song.
O'er ocean or Alps, the stranger who roams
But gathers a wreath for his bier;
For life hath its music in low minor tones,
And man is the cause of its tear.
But gathers a wreath for his bier;
For life hath its music in low minor tones,
And man is the cause of its tear.
