O, footsteps sounding in the night Along the empty city street, Go ye, like me, in laggard flight, Your doom to meet? Or go ye to a region blest Some place of quiet—call it home, Where you may ease your toil and rest, While I must roam? O, voices, calling through the gloom, Speak ye but to my heart alone Of hope that rises o'er the doom Which I bemoan? Or are ye echoes of the past, When love was young and life was glad, When nothing could a shadow cast, Or make me sad? O, music falling from the stars, A promise of the things to be When, passed beyond these mortal bars, I will be free, Art thou the spirit of the sphere Where dwells the love I thought was dead? Spirit of beauty! thou art near; I hear thy tread! O, footsteps, voices, music, all I ever knew to love, behold I've drawn the curtain, spread the pall, My hearth is cold! All silent now, I hear no sound, And soon the throbbing heart must cease A mighty presence wraps me round. I am at peace. |