THE POST-BOY'S SONG.
The night is wild, and the road is long,
The scudding clouds fly fast,
The swift wind sings a dreary song
And the trees creak in the blast;
The moon is down in the tossing sea,
The stars shed not a ray,
The lightning flashes frightfully,
But I must on my way.
Like a shuttle thrown by the hand of fate
Forward and back I go
Bearing a thread to the desolate
To darken his web of woe,
A brighter thread to the glad of heart,
And a mingled one for all,
Yet the dark and light I cannot part,
Nor alter their hues at all.
Full many a hundred times have I
Gone o'er it in the dark,
'Till my faithful steeds can well descry
Each long familiar mark,
Withal should peril come tonight
God have us in his care,
For all alone, and without light
The boldest well beware.
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