Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/92

64 Thus, as I muse, I hear my little child

Sob in its sleep within the cottage near—

My own dear child! Gone is that mortal doubt!

The Power that drew our lives forth from the wild

Our Father is; we shall to Him be dear,

Nor from His universe be blotted out!

"BEYOND THE BRANCHES OF THE PINE"

AN AUTUMN MEDITATION

the long day of cloud and storm and sun

Declines into the dark and silent night,

So past the old man s life from human gaze;