Before my firelight late I sat one eve,
And let the loom of long-past memories weave
A fabric all its own. First, thoughts trooped by
Of eager childhood days with cloudless sky;
And lastly, thoughts of years when, prone to fear,
I almost dared to doubt that God was near.
Then subtle error strove to turn me back
To days of many fancied ills, and lack;
But even now, though mortal sense would say
That life at best was but a woeful day,
All through my sable truce with mortal man
One thread of silver like a promise ran
One tiny strand, one small and glittering thread;
Could I by this to conscious life be led?
One lingering ray of light yet left for me;
One hope, one slender hold on God's infinity!
Still as I mused, the fabric of my dreams
Began to change; I saw some scanty gleams,
