Palms are for folded hands
And the fields of the lilies for the limbs at rest;
But the wandering winds of April to the west
Sweep showers across the lands;

And in this swift white gleams
Their shining pallor doth but come and go
For a vision of the golden after-glow
Where they abide in dreams;

Beyond the sunset’s hours,
No more to fade, no more to pass away:–
Betwixt us lieth many an unknown day
Where thorns must be for flowers.

All in the light look down
The faces that have somewhat left behind them,
Waiting for their lost children till they find them,
Dearer than palm of crown.

How for to them? The hours
How long? We know not, be we only know
If under shadow of the Cross we go,
It is no path of flowers.

To journey smooth no more
Pass on, in armour of the Word of God,
With the limbs girded, and the feet well shod,
And the Captain gone before;–

On to the better part,
To the days of battle, to the nights of prayer,
To the faith’s trial;–if thou winnest there,
It is well with thee, O Heart!

Source: Atalanta. 1.7 (April 1888) 396-397. Print.


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