FAITH AND UNFAITH.
BySARAH DOUDNEY.
“Faith and unfaith can ne’er be equal powers.”—Tennyson.
Shesat alone by the fire one day;The winds were sobbing outside the pane,And over the meadows and hillsides greyThe clouds hung heavy with rain.But down in the garden-paths she knewLast summer’s leaves were lingering yet,Leaves that had taken the sun and the dewOf days she would fain forget.She sat alone, and the firelight gleamedOn a little golden ring she wore,And her tears fell fast for the hopes that beamedIn the years that come no more.She drew the ring from her hand, and said,“Why should I cling to the outward signOf a love that now in his heart lies dead,Though it lives and burns in mine?”But a voice said, “Silence is not death;Wait on in patience and bear your pain;You may dim the gold by a single breath,But it shines out bright again!“Love is not love if it cannot trust,And faith should shine like the virgin gold,A treasure unsullied by moth or rust,That never is bought and sold.”
Shesat alone by the fire one day;The winds were sobbing outside the pane,And over the meadows and hillsides greyThe clouds hung heavy with rain.But down in the garden-paths she knewLast summer’s leaves were lingering yet,Leaves that had taken the sun and the dewOf days she would fain forget.She sat alone, and the firelight gleamedOn a little golden ring she wore,And her tears fell fast for the hopes that beamedIn the years that come no more.She drew the ring from her hand, and said,“Why should I cling to the outward signOf a love that now in his heart lies dead,Though it lives and burns in mine?”But a voice said, “Silence is not death;Wait on in patience and bear your pain;You may dim the gold by a single breath,But it shines out bright again!“Love is not love if it cannot trust,And faith should shine like the virgin gold,A treasure unsullied by moth or rust,That never is bought and sold.”
Shesat alone by the fire one day;The winds were sobbing outside the pane,And over the meadows and hillsides greyThe clouds hung heavy with rain.
Shesat alone by the fire one day;
The winds were sobbing outside the pane,
And over the meadows and hillsides grey
The clouds hung heavy with rain.
But down in the garden-paths she knewLast summer’s leaves were lingering yet,Leaves that had taken the sun and the dewOf days she would fain forget.
But down in the garden-paths she knew
Last summer’s leaves were lingering yet,
Leaves that had taken the sun and the dew
Of days she would fain forget.
She sat alone, and the firelight gleamedOn a little golden ring she wore,And her tears fell fast for the hopes that beamedIn the years that come no more.
She sat alone, and the firelight gleamed
On a little golden ring she wore,
And her tears fell fast for the hopes that beamed
In the years that come no more.
She drew the ring from her hand, and said,“Why should I cling to the outward signOf a love that now in his heart lies dead,Though it lives and burns in mine?”
She drew the ring from her hand, and said,
“Why should I cling to the outward sign
Of a love that now in his heart lies dead,
Though it lives and burns in mine?”
But a voice said, “Silence is not death;Wait on in patience and bear your pain;You may dim the gold by a single breath,But it shines out bright again!
But a voice said, “Silence is not death;
Wait on in patience and bear your pain;
You may dim the gold by a single breath,
But it shines out bright again!
“Love is not love if it cannot trust,And faith should shine like the virgin gold,A treasure unsullied by moth or rust,That never is bought and sold.”
“Love is not love if it cannot trust,
And faith should shine like the virgin gold,
A treasure unsullied by moth or rust,
That never is bought and sold.”