ONE DAY.

One day, one day, our lives shall seem

Thin as a brief forgotten dream:

One day, our souls by life opprest,

Shall ask no other boon than rest.

And shall no hope nor longing come,

No memory of our former home,

No yearning for the loved, the dear

Dead lives that are no longer here?

If this be age, and age no more

Recall the hopes, the fears of yore,

The dear dead mother's accents mild,

The lisping of the little child,

Come, Death, and slay us ere the blood

Run slow, and turn our lives from good

For only in such memories we

Consent to linger and to be.