HEAVEN'S NEED.
YE who, passing, bore away
Best of sunshine from our day,—
That rare glory which revives
On the sky of clouded lives,
When, through mists at evening rent,
Rays from inmost heaven are sent,—
What of earth to you remains,
Mid imperishable gains?
Best of sunshine from our day,—
That rare glory which revives
On the sky of clouded lives,
When, through mists at evening rent,
Rays from inmost heaven are sent,—
What of earth to you remains,
Mid imperishable gains?
Mother-love, unchilled by change,
Absence wide, and coldness strange,—
Mother-love, that here must yearn
Vainly for its full return
From the shallow heart of youth,—
Art requited now, in truth?
Or does thy dumb longing go
Through heaven's happy overflow?
Absence wide, and coldness strange,—
Mother-love, that here must yearn
Vainly for its full return
From the shallow heart of youth,—
Art requited now, in truth?
Or does thy dumb longing go
Through heaven's happy overflow?
