[A REMONSTRANCE.]
By THE AUTHOR OF “JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN.”
Gray heavens, gray earth, gray sea, gray sky,
Yet rifted with strange gleams of gold,
Downward, all’s dark; but up on high
Walk our white angels,—dear of old.
Strong faith in God and trust in man,
In patience we possess our souls;
Eastward, grey ghosts may linger wan,
But westward, back the shadow rolls.
Life’s broken urns with moss are clad,
And grass springs greenest over graves;
The shipwrecked sailor reckons glad,
Not what he lost, but what he saves.
Our sun has set, but in his ray
The hill-tops shine like saints new-born:
His after-glow of night makes day,
And when we wake it will be morn.