Classic Poem

Evening passes fast away, The
'Tis almost time to rest;
What thoughts has left the vanished day?
What feelings in thy breast?

" The vanished day? It leaves a sense
Of labour hardly done;
Of little gained with vast expense —
A sense of grief alone!

" Time stands before the door of Death,
Upbraiding bitterly;
And Conscience, with exhaustless breath,
Pours black reproach on me:

" And though I think that Conscience lies,
And Time should Fate condemn;
Still, weak Repentance clouds my eyes,
And makes me yield to them! "

Then art thou glad to seek repose?
Art glad to leave the sea,
And anchor all thy weary woes
In calm Eternity?

Nothing regrets to see thee go —
Not one voice sobs, " Farewell " ;
And where thy heart has suffered so
Canst thou desire to dwell?

" Alas! the countless links are strong
That bind us to our clay;
The loving spirit lingers long,
And would not pass away —

" And rest is sweet, when laurelled fame
Will crown the soldier's crest;
But a brave heart with a tarnished name
Would rather fight than rest. "

Well, thou hast fought for many a year,
Hast fought thy whole life through,
Hast humbled Falsehood, trampled Fear;
What is there left to do?

" 'Tis true, this arm has hotly striven,
Has dared what few would dare;
Much have I done, and freely given,
Yet little learnt to bear! "

Look on the grave where thou must sleep,
Thy last and strongest foe;
'Twill be endurance not to weep
If that repose be woe.

The long fight closing in defeat —
Defeat serenely borne —
Thine eventide may still be sweet,
Thy night a glorious morn.