Though, sorrow count the hours, 
Hoping the last, 
Let not thy spirit faint 
Ere they he past. 
Smile when the moments fly, 
Smile when they stay; 
Life’s longest, shortest night, 
Closes in day. 
Caroline Fry. 
HEN the weariness of life is ended, 
And the task of our long day is done, 
And the props on which our hearts depended 
All have failed or broken, one by one; 
Evening and our sorrow’s shadow blended, 
Telling us that peace is now begun. 
How far back will seem the sun’s first dawning. 
And those early mists so cold and grey ! 
Half-forgotten even the toil of morning, 
And the heat and burden of the day : 
Flowers that we were tending, and weeds scorning, 
All alike withered and cast away. 
Yain will seem the impatient heart, which waited 
Toils that gathered but too quickly round; 
And the childish joy, so soon elated 
At the path we thought none else had found; 
And the foolish ardour soon abated, 
By the storm which cast us to the ground. 
