Not unto endless dark do we go down!
Though all the wisdom of wide earth said, yea,
Yet my fond heart would throb eternal nay.
Night, prophet of morning, wears her starry crown,
And jewels with hope her murkiest shades that frown;
Death's doubt is kernelled in each prayer we pray,
Eternity but night in some vast day
Of God's far-off, white flame of love's renown.
Not unto endless dark! We may not know
The distant deeps to which our hopings go,
The tidal shores where ebbs our fleeting breath:—
But over ill and dread and doubts fell dart,
Sweet hope eternal holds the human heart,
And love laughs down the desolate dusk of death