Sweet sweet sound of distant waters falling On a parched and thirsty plain; Sweet sweet song of soaring skylark, calling On the sun to shine again; Perfume of the rose, only the fresher For past fertilizing rain; Pearls amid the sea, a hidden treasure For some daring hand to gain; -- Better, dearer than all these Is the earth beneath the trees: Of a much more priceless worth Is the old, brown, common earth. Little snow-white lamb piteously bleating For thy mother far away; Saddest, sweetest nightingale retreating With thy sorrow from the day; Weary fawn whom night has overtaken, From the herd gone quite astray; Dove whose nest was rifled and forsaken In the budding month of May; -- Roost upon the leafy trees; Lie on earth and take your ease: Death is better far than birth, You shall turn again to earth. Listen to the never pausing murmur Of the waves that fret the shore: See the ancient pine that stands the firmer For the storm-shock that it bore; And the moon her silver chalice filling With light from the great sun's store; And the stars which deck our temple's ceiling As the flowers deck its floor; Look and hearken while you may, For these things shall pass away: All these things shall fail and cease; Let us wait the end in peace. Let us wait the end in peace; for truly That shall cease which was before: Let us see our lamps are lighted, duly Fed with oil, nor wanting more: Let us pray while yet the Lord will hear us, For the time is almost o'er; Yea, the end of all is very near us; Yea, the Judge is at the door. Let us pray now while we may; It will be too late to pray When the quick and dead shall all Rise at the last trumpet call. |