THE grey day dawns and sleep is gone,
The laggard hours are here to count—
Like yesterday’s the sun shone on—
A dreary stream from time’s old fount.
Go, day, as fast as my heart beats,
Pass, minutes, with the speed of thought—
Fly, as my soul, when it entreats
Swift passage where its love is sought.
The present bridge with then and when,
Link past and future, dropping now;
Die, days, and rot like aged men,
Nights, vanish like a gamester’s vow!
Hope, on in front, seeks out the way,
Doubt stays behind and scoffs at all,
Trust walks with calm all through the day,
Faith brightly shines through night’s deep pall.
Life in the ever present hour,
Art in the prison of life’s pain,
Love in the torture of its power;
Death shares with sleep what joy should gain.