“BUT SWEETER DAYS WILL COME AT LAST.”
My heart was light of care or pain—
What recked I for the wintry blast?
And stepping homeward through the rain,
I paused to catch a single strain:
“But sweeter days will come at last!” So deep a song, so sweet a tone,
Enticed my feet from hurrying past;
The voice fell to a tender moan,
And rose with the refrain alone:
“But sweeter days will come at last!” I took the song home in my heart,
And gave it room with sweet things past;
I wondered if the singer’s art,
Or if her soul, sang in the part,
“But sweeter days will come at last!” I knew not then, I know to-day,
Who stayed me thus in chilling blast;
A life shut from the light of day,
With only faith to sing and say,
“But sweeter days will come at last!” Once more I walked in chill and rain!
The happy years had flown too fast;
My heart was bowed with loss and pain,
When memory struck that chord again,—
“But sweeter days will come at last!” I paused as erst in twilight gloom,
And said, “What precious meed thou hast,
Pale singer of the prison-room,
When thus thy song outlives thy tomb:
‘But sweeter days will come at last!’” And in my grief ’tis sweet to know
’T was grief that climbed to hopes so vast;
And that ’t was sorrow’s overflow
That sang of morn to nights of woe,
“But sweeter days will come at last!” My heart went out with happier cheer,
And sang, though yet with clouds o’ercast,
If so, some weeper, passing near,
Or so some careless heart might hear:
“But sweeter days will come at last!”