LIGHT is our sorrow for it ends tomorrow, Light is our death which cannot hold us fast; So brief a sorrow can be scarcely sorrow, Or death be death so quickly past. One night, no more, of pain that turns to pleasure, One night, no more, of weeping weeping sore; And then the heaped-up measure beyond measure, In quietness for evermore. Our face is set like flint against our trouble, Yet many things there are which comfort us; This bubble is a rainbow-coloured bubble, This bubble-life tumultuous. Our sails are set to cross the tossing river, Our face is set to reach Jerusalem; We toil awhile, but then we rest for ever, Sing with all Saints and rest with them. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ANSWER TO PRAYER by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE MIDDLETON PLACE by AMY LOWELL FLEMING HELPHENSTINE by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON ON THE WAY (PHILADELPHIA, 1794) by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON IN THE CARPENTER'S SHOP by SARA TEASDALE ON THE EXPECTED GENERAL RISING OF THE FRENCH NATION IN 1792 by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |