ASHES
Your remembrances are like unto ashes.—Job xiii:12.
Your remembrances are like unto ashes.—Job xiii:12.
The light of my camp-fire lingersWhen its ribbons no more arise,Like the pressure of vanished fingers,An echo of ended sighs.I gaze on the smouldering embers,I look in the heart of the fire,And, somehow, my soul remembersThe thrill of an old desire.There is something in embers gleaming,There is something in coals aglow,That quickens the soul to dreamingA dream of the long ago.The things of the past awaken—A message, a face, a name;There is balm to the soul forsakenIn the light of a dying flame.Oh, what are our hopes but ashes?Oh, what are our dreams but dust?The jewel shall dim that flashes,The glittering sword shall rust.Yet the faith of the lonely-hearted,The faith of the soul that’s true,On the ashes of days departedShall kindle the fire anew.
The light of my camp-fire lingersWhen its ribbons no more arise,Like the pressure of vanished fingers,An echo of ended sighs.I gaze on the smouldering embers,I look in the heart of the fire,And, somehow, my soul remembersThe thrill of an old desire.There is something in embers gleaming,There is something in coals aglow,That quickens the soul to dreamingA dream of the long ago.The things of the past awaken—A message, a face, a name;There is balm to the soul forsakenIn the light of a dying flame.Oh, what are our hopes but ashes?Oh, what are our dreams but dust?The jewel shall dim that flashes,The glittering sword shall rust.Yet the faith of the lonely-hearted,The faith of the soul that’s true,On the ashes of days departedShall kindle the fire anew.
The light of my camp-fire lingersWhen its ribbons no more arise,Like the pressure of vanished fingers,An echo of ended sighs.I gaze on the smouldering embers,I look in the heart of the fire,And, somehow, my soul remembersThe thrill of an old desire.
The light of my camp-fire lingers
When its ribbons no more arise,
Like the pressure of vanished fingers,
An echo of ended sighs.
I gaze on the smouldering embers,
I look in the heart of the fire,
And, somehow, my soul remembers
The thrill of an old desire.
There is something in embers gleaming,There is something in coals aglow,That quickens the soul to dreamingA dream of the long ago.The things of the past awaken—A message, a face, a name;There is balm to the soul forsakenIn the light of a dying flame.
There is something in embers gleaming,
There is something in coals aglow,
That quickens the soul to dreaming
A dream of the long ago.
The things of the past awaken—
A message, a face, a name;
There is balm to the soul forsaken
In the light of a dying flame.
Oh, what are our hopes but ashes?Oh, what are our dreams but dust?The jewel shall dim that flashes,The glittering sword shall rust.Yet the faith of the lonely-hearted,The faith of the soul that’s true,On the ashes of days departedShall kindle the fire anew.
Oh, what are our hopes but ashes?
Oh, what are our dreams but dust?
The jewel shall dim that flashes,
The glittering sword shall rust.
Yet the faith of the lonely-hearted,
The faith of the soul that’s true,
On the ashes of days departed
Shall kindle the fire anew.