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Article A DREAM. Page 1 of 1 Article WHAT OF THE DAY? Page 1 of 1
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A Dream.
A DREAM .
I nitEAiiED a gracious dream of other days , A dream of fervent joy , a dream of light , When little I recked of earthly blame or praise , When all AA'as A'ery p leasant to my sight ! That dream was once to me , ah ! very dear , And full of glad Hope ' s dominating poAv ' r ,
Absent AA'as doubt—distant far Avas fear , UnknoAvn the storms , or passing clouds Avhich IOAV ' ' . For she Avas standing gaily at my side : I Avatched her sunny smile , I heard her A'oice , — Oh , best and truest of heart-friends tried , Her gentle presence made my heart rejoice !
No darkness then had settled on our way , In the full light , Ave ran our " weird" apace ; A bright companionshi p threw then , day by day On all our longings , a light of trust and grace ! Alas ! That dream has faded ! past and gone Its pleasant hours , each sympathetic scene ,
And flitted softer souvenirs one by one , Filling the dimmer region of Avhat " once has been . " So pass away all gracious dreams from life , Sad memories oft of happiness gone and past , But ei'er Avitnesses , amid sad earthly strife , Of dear Realities , Avhich one day yet Avill last ! W .
What Of The Day?
WHAT OF THE DAY ?
WHAT of the day that has passed us by , Oh ! AA'hat of the clay may we say—HaA'e Ave gathered fruit , or sown the seed That Avid brighten life ' s dusky way ? Have AVO hastily pluck'd the floAvers that grew Around us in beauty and pride ,
Cherishing but for an hour or tAvo , Then heedlessly casting aside ? Have Ave joined in the chase of light-wing'd things That invite yet elude the touch— - Of pleasure , of fame , or power , AA'hose charms In possession dissolve so much ?
What roots Avere planted and briars cut doAA'n , What branches been trained to the sun , And Aveeds uprooted that cumbered the ground , Where blossoms immortal should come ? What of the day that has passed us by , Oh ! what of the clay must be told ?
That Avith good intentions 'tvA'as boldly met , Which slipped from our careless hold ; That Ave laboured and toiled for phantoms all , Till the shadows greAV heavy , and lay So chill , so drear , Ave AA'aked from our dreams To the fact of—a wasted clay ! MONICA E . FELL .
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
A Dream.
A DREAM .
I nitEAiiED a gracious dream of other days , A dream of fervent joy , a dream of light , When little I recked of earthly blame or praise , When all AA'as A'ery p leasant to my sight ! That dream was once to me , ah ! very dear , And full of glad Hope ' s dominating poAv ' r ,
Absent AA'as doubt—distant far Avas fear , UnknoAvn the storms , or passing clouds Avhich IOAV ' ' . For she Avas standing gaily at my side : I Avatched her sunny smile , I heard her A'oice , — Oh , best and truest of heart-friends tried , Her gentle presence made my heart rejoice !
No darkness then had settled on our way , In the full light , Ave ran our " weird" apace ; A bright companionshi p threw then , day by day On all our longings , a light of trust and grace ! Alas ! That dream has faded ! past and gone Its pleasant hours , each sympathetic scene ,
And flitted softer souvenirs one by one , Filling the dimmer region of Avhat " once has been . " So pass away all gracious dreams from life , Sad memories oft of happiness gone and past , But ei'er Avitnesses , amid sad earthly strife , Of dear Realities , Avhich one day yet Avill last ! W .
What Of The Day?
WHAT OF THE DAY ?
WHAT of the day that has passed us by , Oh ! AA'hat of the clay may we say—HaA'e Ave gathered fruit , or sown the seed That Avid brighten life ' s dusky way ? Have AVO hastily pluck'd the floAvers that grew Around us in beauty and pride ,
Cherishing but for an hour or tAvo , Then heedlessly casting aside ? Have Ave joined in the chase of light-wing'd things That invite yet elude the touch— - Of pleasure , of fame , or power , AA'hose charms In possession dissolve so much ?
What roots Avere planted and briars cut doAA'n , What branches been trained to the sun , And Aveeds uprooted that cumbered the ground , Where blossoms immortal should come ? What of the day that has passed us by , Oh ! what of the clay must be told ?
That Avith good intentions 'tvA'as boldly met , Which slipped from our careless hold ; That Ave laboured and toiled for phantoms all , Till the shadows greAV heavy , and lay So chill , so drear , Ave AA'aked from our dreams To the fact of—a wasted clay ! MONICA E . FELL .