The Poetry Corner

The Twilight Hour.

By Susanna Moodie

Slowly I dawn on the sleepless eye, Like a dreaming thought of eternity; But darkness hangs on my misty vest, Like the shade of care on the sleeper's breast; A light that is felt--but dimly seen, Like hope that hangs life and death between; And the weary watcher will sighing say, "Lord, I thank thee! 'twill soon be day;" The lingering night of pain is past, Morning breaks in the east at last. Mortal!--thou mayst see in me A type of feeble infancy,-- A dim, uncertain, struggling ray, The promise of a future day!