Tales of a Wayside Inn Part 15

Waits, and will not go away; Waits, and will not be gainsaid; By the cares of yesterday Each to-day is heavier made;

Till at length the burden seems Greater than our strength can bear, Heavy as the weight of dreams, Pressing on us everywhere.

And we stand from day to day, Like the dwarfs of times gone by, Who, as Northern legends say, On their shoulders held the sky.

WEARINESS.

O little feet! that such long years Must wander on through hopes and fears, Must ache and bleed beneath your load; I, nearer to the wayside inn Where toil shall cease and rest begin, Am weary, thinking of your road!

O little hands! that, weak or strong, Have still to serve or rule so long, Have still so long to give or ask; I, who so much with book and pen Have toiled among my fellow-men, Am weary, thinking of your task.

O little hearts! that throb and beat With such impatient, feverish heat, Such limitless and strong desires; Mine that so long has glowed and burned, With pa.s.sions into ashes turned Now covers and conceals its fires.

O little souls! as pure and white And crystalline as rays of light Direct from heaven, their source divine; Refracted through the mist of years, How red my setting sun appears, How lurid looks this soul of mine!

THE END.