Menella Bute Smedley


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Looking back,
Wander we through life's long track,
Looking back,
Where a parted sun's soft ray
Lingers yet across the way.

Gazing home,
As the slow bark cleaves the foam,
Gazing home;
Seems the haven far before
Nought to that remember'd shore.

From thy side
To that shore pale visions glide,
Pale beside thee, but they wear
Haloes of refulgent air,
Standing there;
And thou beckonest, but in vain!
Never will they come again.

O! look on!
Turn thy face from glories gone!
Underneath yon dim sea-line
Founts of deeper glory shine;
Watch and wait till in thy sight
Shall that dimness turn to light,
Pledge of the coming dawn that knows not night.

It may be so;
I cannot tell, I do not know.
Can the frail vine forsake its prop, to lean
On cords let down from heaven, unfelt, unseen?
I may believe,
That hinders not that I should gaze and grieve,
Seeking I know not what, and loving what I leave.
Chide not my weakness, so the weak heart saith,
For love is more than faith.

Is there no art,
Thou wistful, wayward heart,
So to transform thy faith that it shall be
The shadow of a near eternity;
Not clinging to the hour which cannot last,
Not weeping for the perishable past,
But eagle-eyed, and patient as a dove,
Working, in strength, by love?

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