126

The Cloud on the Way.

Haply, leaning o'er the pilgrim, all unweeting thou art near,

Thou mayst whisper words of warning or of comfort in his ear,

Till, beyond the border where that brooding mystery bars the sight,

Those whom thou hast fondly cherished stand with thee in peace and light.

THE BORDER-LANDS.

FATHER, into thy loving hands
My feeble spirit I commit,

While wandering in these Border-Lands
Until thy voice shall summon it.

Father, I would not dare to choose
A longer life, an earlier death;
I know not what my soul might lose
By shortened or protracted breath.

These Border-Lands are calm and still, And solemn are their silent shades; And my heart welcomes them, until The light of life's long evening fades.

I heard them spoken of with dread, As fearful and unquiet places, Shades, where the living and the dead Look sadly in each other's faces.

126

The Cloud on the Way.

Haply, leaning o'er the pilgrim, all unweeting thou art near,

Thou mayst whisper words of warning or of comfort in his ear,

Till, beyond the border where that brooding mystery bars the sight,

Those whom thou hast fondly cherished stand with thee in peace and light.

THE BORDER-LANDS.

FATHER, into thy loving hands
My feeble spirit I commit,

While wandering in these Border-Lands
Until thy voice shall summon it.

Father, I would not dare to choose
A longer life, an earlier death;
I know not what my soul might lose
By shortened or protracted breath.

These Border-Lands are calm and still, And solemn are their silent shades; And my heart welcomes them, until The light of life's long evening fades.

I heard them spoken of with dread, As fearful and unquiet places, Shades, where the living and the dead Look sadly in each other's faces.

128

The Border-Lands.

But since thy hand hath led me here,

And I have seen the Border-Land, — Seen the dark river flowing near,

Stood on its brink, as now I stand,

There has been nothing to alarm

My trembling soul; how could I fear While thus encircled with thine arm? I never felt thee half so near.

What should appall me in a place

That brings me hourly nearer thee? When I may almost see thy face!

Surely 't is here my soul would be.

They say the waves are dark and deep, That faith has perished in the river; They speak of death with fear, and weep. Shall my soul perish? Never, never!

I know that thou wilt never leave

The soul that trembles while it clings To thee: I know thou wilt achieve Its passage on thine outspread wings.

And since I first was brought so near
The stream that flows to the Dead Sea,
I think that it has grown more clear
And shallow than it used to be.