I always felt the blackest cloud would lift,
Break, reveal the blue and snow-white drift
Above, and all the glories of God's skies,
And gropingly I felt my sense would rise,
Sometime.
I hoped that good would grow from everything,
That every bud that blossomed in the spring
Was but a symbol of some larger, purer love
That lived and bloomed, eternal, far above,
Somewhere.
And, dreaming of a distance dim and far,
At length I woke to find a present star
Had hovered o'er me all the while unknown;
I woke to find my future, glorious grown,
Is here and now.
