Untitled Page 6

TELL US.
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Watchman, tell us of the night,
What the signs of promise are-
Are there not, yond mountain-height
Gleaming of a rising star?
----oooo----
Nothing, thence, for wistful eye,
Naught but banks of lurid dun?
Nor amid the Eastern sky
Gleamings of no rising sun?
----oooo----
Naught but weird, discordant sound,
Wafted on each swelling breese?
While with frown, the heavens look down,
O'er the land, and O'er the seas!
----oooo----
Nothing but a rayless night,
Broording o'er a troubled sea?
Not a gleam, nor beacon light
Warns of breakers on the lea!
----oooo----
When the soul's eternal cry
Hath no answers yond the tomb,
What were life then, but a sigh,
What were death, but final doom!
----oooo----
Nay, O weary, troubled soul!
Lo, a star beyond the sky
Whispers of a heavenly goal
Where the spirit ne'er shall die.
----oooo----

J.C.Pelton.