In The Dark

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O in the depths of midnight
  What fancies haunt the brain!
  When even the sigh of the sleeper
  Sounds like a sob of pain.

  A sense of awe and of wonder
  I may never well define,--
  For the thoughts that come in the shadows
  Never come in the shine.

  The old clock down in the parlor
  Like a sleepless mourner grieves,
  And the seconds drip in the silence
  As the rain drips from the eaves.

  And I think of the hands that signal
  The hours there in the gloom,
  And wonder what angel watchers
  Wait in the darkened room.

  And I think of the smiling faces
  That used to watch and wait,
  Till the click of the clock was answered
  By the click of the opening gate.--

  They are not there now in the evening--
  Morning or noon--not there;
  Yet I know that they keep their vigil,
  And wait for me Somewhere.

© James Whitcomb Riley