Blow, heavenly winds, on every soul! And stir them constantly; Sting us and quicken us and bless, Relax not in thy urgent stress, Till out of toil and love and pain Full strength and stature we attain, And are led home by thee.
VEILS of pallid mist and gray Wrap the world of yesterday; Fir-fringed island, rocky cape, Yellow sands, and mountain shape, Sun and sky, and waters blue, All are blotted from the view. Out to sea we blindly stare; Did we dream that such things were?
No; untouched, and safe and sure, All these lovely things endure; Underneath that hovering mist, All the blue and amethyst, All the rocky cliffs and sea, All the surf-lines rippling free, Mountain forms and islands green,— All are there, although unseen.
If we bravely bide and wait Through this brief eclipse of Fate, Smile through the unsmiling noon, Keeping heart and hope in tune,— Shadow shall give place to sun, And, out-stealing, one by one, All the fair things mourned in vain Shall be made our own again.
Dear heart, faint heart, who in shade Sitteth, pale, perplexed, afraid, At the brief evanishment Of thy yesterday’s content,— Courage take; for hope endures, Though a little mist obscures, And behind the fog-wreaths dun Brightens the eternal sun.
WITHIN the Porch of Life we sit, The access to the heavenly door, The shadowy porch where cold rains pour, And every bleak wind blows on it. And those who crowd to stand thereon Smiling with youth grow grave anon.
We sit among our fellows so, Shivering a little in the wind, And still our eyes reach out to find The faint beam of an inward glow— A home-like ray, which through the door Steals, softly beckoning, evermore.
There in sure comfort, safe and warm; They sit who have an entrance won, Smiling and glad; each dearest one Who once endured the bitter storm, And shared our patience and our pain, But come not forth to share again.
Dear door, which never is shut tight, And knows no bolt and needs no bar, But through all ages stands ajar To bless the eyes which yearn for sight, And keep the souls that wait without From the slow desolate death of doubt!
The Porch of Life is hard and bare, And long the waiting sometimes seems. But while we catch the out-reaching beams, Making the darkness subtly fair, And know the door is open still, We can endure it with goodwill.