Of hours that have too soon slipped past,

The while.

Two boats upon a sea of glass—

A little strength, a little trust;

Yet let the hand of Fate but pass,

Could they withstand the storm-cloud’s gust,

Alas!

So, though not knowing, yet must I

Forget one day and feel no more

Your love, which dreamed not e’er to die.

Thank God for that—I close my door.

Good-bye.

The End of the Day

The day is done and every hour is spent

And now it lies a-dying in the west,

Yet with what wonder those last moments blest

Crown all with the chaste kiss of sweet content;

For nature’s minstrels sing a carol pent

With the soft music of the spheres suppressed

In one great strain—the while upon night’s breast

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