A poem of retrospection that encourages us not to waste time. The Poet points out God's decree and the things that are important in life.
by Mary C. Ryan
Sitting alone in the gloaming.
With soul grown weary with weeping;
And drifting so far, far away
From the scenes of this lonely day;
Like perfume wafted from flowers.
Clings to some fair Elfin bowers.
So fancy reverts to the past,
To the years that vanished so fast.
And life like a desert appears.
All covered with sorrows and cares;
While joys like oases green,
Ofttimes on the vast waste are seen
Or like a bird singing in glee,
Though shot in sport, falls from its tree.
So at the zenith of my joy
In fortune's hand I seemed a toy;
And into woe's deep pit was cast
To bear alone its fiery blast.
But dust to dust is God's decree
To things of earth whate'er they be;
And he who stores his treasures here,
Like bubbles sees them disappear.
So, well for us, that each some day
At death's dark door, life's ills can lay;
With sorrows, tears, and griefs all o'er,
E'en lost in joy forevermore.
For if to self we but prove true,
From Sharon's rose we'll sip the dew.
In the darkest gloom of night
We'll see by faith a distant light.
And hear a voice,"All's well with thee,
True to thyself and true to me."
Then, when across Jordan's cold stream.
These years of toil will seem a dream.
So watch and pray, and be content,
And let not time be idly spent.
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