Despair.
By Jean Blewett
We catch a glimpse of it, gaunt and gray,
When the golden sunbeams are all abroad;
We sober a moment, then softly say:
The world still lies in the hand of God.
We watch it stealthily creeping o'er
The threshold leading to somebody's soul;
A shadow, we cry, it cannot be more
When faith is one's portion and Heaven one's goal.
A ghost that comes stealing its way along,
Affrighting the weak with its gruesome air,
But who that is young and glad and strong
Fears for a moment to meet Despair?
To this heart of ours we have thought so bold
All uninvited it comes one day -
Lo! faith grows wan, and love grows cold,
And the heaven of our dreams lies far away.