Some day when all this weary time
No more hath power to stay my flight;
When far from earth's unhappy clime
My soul shall speed her way to light,
I shall no more this garb of clay
(Beneath whose weight I sink opprest)
Bear with me; but, oh blesséd day,
Find all denied in life of rest!
Some day! ah, how my heart doth cry
With longing and with pain, aloud,
For some faint sign lest hope should die;
For some small token through the cloud!
Lest joy no more my guest should be,
And peace, that calms with tender touch,
No more should come to visit me,
Who need their presence here so much.
Some day! Nay, do I not know well
This life bears little in its hand
That we should lie as in a spell
Beneath its strong and cruel band.
At best, 'tis but a span dealt out
To each; as grains of sand may seem
That, as the tempest whirls about,
Are gone, and ended as a dream!