In Darkness

I will be still;The terror drawing nighShall startle from my lips no coward cry;Nay, though the night my deadliest dread fulfill,I will be still.

For, oh! I know,Though suffering hours delay,Yet to Eternity they pass away,Carrying something onward as they flow,Outlasting woe!

Yes, something won;The harvest of our tears,—Something unfading, plucked from fading years;Something to blossom on beyond the sun,From Sorrow won.

The agonySo hopeless now of balmShall sleep at last, in light as pure and calmAs that wherewith the stars look down on thee,Gethsemane.