. Ballads of life. nd; That strength will come for every days endurance,—Grace all the way, and glory at the end. S5 EALLADS OF LIFE. WRECKS. Sunsets soft flush has fadedOut of the western sky, And over the busy city The twilig^ht shadows he. A soft gray mist is spreading Oer the lake and the distailt land. And white-capped waves come rolHng,To break on the pebbly strand. The lamps in the street are Hghted, And the lamps in the vauked blue, While the rose-bud holds up her fragrant lipsTo be kissed by the falling dew. I stand in the twilight gleaming. In the midst of the w^aters roar, And think
. Ballads of life. nd; That strength will come for every days endurance,—Grace all the way, and glory at the end. S5 EALLADS OF LIFE. WRECKS. Sunsets soft flush has fadedOut of the western sky, And over the busy city The twilig^ht shadows he. A soft gray mist is spreading Oer the lake and the distailt land. And white-capped waves come rolHng,To break on the pebbly strand. The lamps in the street are Hghted, And the lamps in the vauked blue, While the rose-bud holds up her fragrant lipsTo be kissed by the falling dew. I stand in the twilight gleaming. In the midst of the w^aters roar, And think of my boyhood dreamingThat comes back to me nevermore. There are wrecks on the beach by the the sailors sleep under the waves; No bell ever tolled for their funeral rites. No prayers have been said by their graves. Sad? I know of a thing that is sadder still —Of a life that is wrecked and lost; Of a brave proud heart that is struggling and tempest-tossed. o r* J2 3 rti r; a- D- P h o ^ s. SONGS OF HOPE AND MEMORY. I know of a heart that strove and broke,Of- a conquered and humbled pride ; Of a spirit that, tortured, crushed and wronged,Wrestled and moaned and died. I know — pshaw! what do you care? Be still! I will tell no more,But this: there are sadder wrecks by far, Than the wrecks by the Ijj^ue lakes shore. Chicago, 1S70. * HEAVEN. Beyond the chilling winds and gloomy skies, Beyond deaths cloudy portal,There is a land where beauty never dies, And love A land whose light is never dimmed by shade. Whose fields are ever vernal;Where nothing beautiful can ever fade. But blooms for aye, eternal. We may not know how sweet the balmy air,How bright and fair its flowers; We may not hear the songs that echo there,Through those enchanted bowers. The citys shining towers we may not see. With our dim earthly vision;For death, the silent warder, keeps the key That opes those gates elysian. 90 BALLADS OF LIFE. But sometimes when adown the we
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