I looked, and the mist had hidden
Streamlet and gorge and mountain,
Mansion and church had vanished away,
No trace of tree or fountain.
Mist, on the roof where birdlings wake
The strains of old love stories,
Mist, like tears on the roses' cheek,
In cups of the morning glories.
"Ah, like life, 'said my heart to me,'
Only a world of sorrow,
The lips you love, the hands you clasp,
Are cold and strange to-morrow.
Mists on the stream of by-gone days,
Where are your childhood bowers?
Mists on the path of coming years.
Where are your household flowers?"
I looked again; a sunbeam bright
Had shot through the heavy mist;
It drew the rose to its glowing breast,
And the morning glories kissed.
The spire of the Ascension Church
Flashed out like St. 'Michael's sword,
When girt with glowing armor, he
Doeth battle for his Lord.
Each moment some high roof or tower,
Some flush of the maple leaves,
Grew fair to sight, the birdlings sang
In nests on the sun-lit eaves;
And Nature bathed in living light,
As if she renewed her birth,
The Universal Father smiled
Through his sunbeam, on the earth.
"Ah, now my heart, so sad and cold
With mists of its repining,
What will thou say to see once more
The cloud with silver lining?"
Source of light! when I leave this sphere,
Grant me a vision like this,
Mists and shadows rolling away
From the Paradise of bliss.
May I look thus on mounts of God,
The flash of temple spires,
And hear the deathless singers chant
From their harmonious lyres;
So may I close mine eyes on earth,
While heaven's pure light is breaking,
And some I know will fold me close,
In arms of love awaking.
