The Shadow

THE pathway of his mortal life hath wound
Beneath a shadow; just beyond it play
The genial breezes, and the cool brooks stray
Into melodious gushings of sweet sound,
Whilst ample floods of mellow sunshine fall
Like a mute rain of rapture over all.
Oft hath he deemed the spell of darkness lost,
And shouted to the dayspring; a full glow
Hath rushed to clasp him; but the subtle woe,
Unvanquished ever, with the might of frost,
Regains its sad realm, and with voice malign
Saith to the dawning joy: "This life is mine!"
Still smiles the brave soul, undivorced from hope!
And, with unwavering eye and warrior mien,
Walks in the shadow, dauntless and serene,
To test, through hostile years, the utmost scope
Of man's endurance--constant to essay
All heights of patience free to feet of clay.
Still smiles the brave soul, undivorced from hope!
But now, methinks, the pale hope gathers strength;
Glad winds invade the silence; streams, at length,
Flash through the desert; 'neath the sapphire cope
Of deepening heavens he hails a happier day,
And the spent shadow mutely wanes away.