The Poetical Works of William Tidd Matson

Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: THE NIGHT COMETH. Fill up the measure Of each day's endeavour, Prodigal never Of life's peerless treasure, Lo the night cometh Waste not a moment, Lest, through thy losing, It pass with accusing Witness to foment The furies against thee. On thine occasion Seize, ere it fly thee; Should it flit by thee,...
More Description

Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: THE NIGHT COMETH. Fill up the measure Of each day's endeavour, Prodigal never Of life's peerless treasure, Lo the night cometh Waste not a moment, Lest, through thy losing, It pass with accusing Witness to foment The furies against thee. On thine occasion Seize, ere it fly thee; Should it flit by thee, No tongue of persuasion E'er can recal it. This instant escaping Beyond thy controlling, While ages are rolling Abides, for thee shaping A future unending. Beneath the bright heaven, Make friends of each hour: To-day's work shall dower Thy soul, with strength given For task of to-morrow. So when the night folding Around thee, work endeth On earth, lo ascendeth The wing'd soul, beholding Night melt into morning. 1890. AN EASTER THOUGHT. If all our hopes and aspirations centred, But in this fluctuating mortal state; If, of the life to come, no promise entered Through this life's open gate. If it were ours alone, awhile to linger In this strange world of shadow?, then to die: If here we saw beyond no angel finger, Beckoning to worlds on high. Oh who could bear the burden and the sorrow That fret the spirit ere she gains the goal ? Who would not woo pale Death, from him to borrow Long quiet for the soul ? In the wild conflict, stirring round us ever, The sea-like throbbings of the restless life. The tumult, and the passion, and endeavour, And the great world at strife. And in the ties of friendship and affection, And in the noble deeds of noble men, And in the sad heart's tender recollection, There were no meaning then. Better at once, the storm and sorrow fleeing, To sleep where wild flowers blow and grasses wave; And lose the sense of individual being, In th...