I heard from out the dreary realms of Sorrow
The various tongues of Woe: —
One said, " Is there a hope in the to-morrow? "
And many answered, " No! "

And they arose and mingled their loud voices,
And cried in bitter breath,
" In all our joys the Past alone rejoices, —
There is no joy but Death.

" Oh dreadful Past, beyond thy midnight ports!
Thou hast usurped our peace;
And if the angel Memory be immortal,
When shall this anguish cease? "

And suddenly within the darkened distance
The solemn Past replied,
" In my domains your joys have no existence,
Your hopes they have not died!

" Nought comes to me except those ghosts detested
Phantoms of Wrong and Pain;
But whatso'er Affection hath invested,
Th' eternal years retain.

" Then stand no more with looks and souls dejected,
To woo and win despair,
The joys ye mourn the Future hath collected,
Your hopes are gathered there.

" And as the dew which leaves the morning flowers
Augments the after rain, —
And as the blooms which fall from summer bowers,
Are multiplied again, —

" So shall the joys the Future holds in keeping,
Augment your after peace;
So shall your hopes, which now are only sleeping,
Return with large increase. "