Page:Dreams and Images.djvu/225

 For we are exiled children of the skies, Lone and lost wanderers from home The stars come out like lamps in windows lit Far, far from where we roam;

Like candles lit to show the long late way, Dear kindly beacons sure and bright; But O, the heavy journeying, and O The silence of the night!—

The dark and vasty silences that lie Between the going and the goal! Will not God reach a friendly hand to lift And land my weary soul?

Will not God speak a friendly word to me Above the tumult and the din Of earthly things—one little word to hush he voice of care and sin?

He speaks! He answers my poor faltering prayer! He opens heaven's lattice wide; He bids me bathe my brow in heavenly airs Like to a flowing tide!

He calls; He gives unto my famished soul, Unto my eager heart, its meed: He breathes upon me with the breath of song, And O, my soul is freed,

And I am lifted up and up, and held A little while—a child, to see The beauties of my Father's house, which shall No more be shut from me!