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Yet, surely as He lives, the day
Of peace He promised shall be ours,
And sow its ghastly fields with flowers !
THE RIVER PATH.
O bird-song floated down the hill,
No rustle from the birchen stem,
The dusk of twilight round us grew,
We felt the falling of the dew;
For, from us, ere the day was done,
But on the river's farther side
We saw the hill-tops glorified,
A tender glow, exceeding fair,
With us the damp, the chill, the gloom : With them the sunset's rosy bloom;
While dark, through willowy vistas seen, The river rolled in shade between.
From out the darkness where we trod
We gazed upon those hills of God,
Whose light seemed not of moon or sun. We spake not, but our thought was one.
We paused, as if from that bright shore Beckoned our dear ones gone before;
And stilled our beating hearts to hear
Sudden our pathway turned from night;
Through their green gates the sunshine showed, A long, slant splendor downward flowed.
Down glade and glen and bank it rolled;
And, borne on piers of mist, allied
So,” prayed we,
66 when our feet draw near The river, dark with mortal fear,
“ And the night cometh chill with dew,