The pale stars stole away, one by one—

Like sensitive souls from the presence of Pride:

The moon hung low, looking back, as the sun

Rose over the tide.

And he, like a King, came up from the Sea!

He opened my rose—unfettered my song—

And quickened a heart to be true to me

All the day long.

The soul that was born of a song and flower

Of tender dawn-flush, and shadowy gray,

Was strengthened by Love for a bitter hour

That chilled my day.

I had dwelt in the garden of the Lord!

I had gathered the sweets of a summer day:

I was called to stand where a flaming sword

Turned every way.

It spared not the weak—nor the strong—nor the dear;

And following fast, like a phantom band,

Famine and Fever and shuddering Fear

Swept o'er the land.

They whispered that Hope, the angel of light,

Would spread her white wings and speed her away;

But she folded me close in my longest night

And darkest day.

As of old, when the fire and tempest had passed,

And an earthquake had riven the rocks, the Word

In a still small voice rose over the blast—

The Voice of the Lord.

And the Voice said: "Take up your lives again!

Quit yourselves manfully! Stand in your lot!

Let the Famine, the Fever, the Peril, the Pain,

Be all forgot!

"Weep no more for the lovely, the brave,

The young head pillowed on a blood-stained sod;

The daisy that grows on the soldier's grave

Looks up to God!

"The soul of the patriot-soldier stands

With a mighty host in eternal calm,

And He who pressed the sword to his hands

Has given the Palm."

And now I stand with my face to the west,

Shading mine eyes, for my glorious sun

Is splendid again as he sinks to his rest—

His day is done.

I have lost my rose, forgotten my song,

But the true heart that loved me is mine alway;

The stars are alight—the way not long—

I had my day!