THE HOURS OF LIFE.
TWILIGHT.--The dewy morning of childhood has passed, and the noon of
youth has gone, and the gloom of twilight is gathering over my
spirit. Alas! alas! how my heart sinks in a wan despair! One by one
my hopes have died out, have faded like the gleams of sunshine that
have just vanished beneath the grove of trees. Hopes! Ah, such warm,
bright, beautiful, loving hopes! But, methinks, than lived upon the
earth, unlike the gleaming rays of sunshine that are fed from
heaven. The earth's darkness dims not their glory; pure and radiant
they shine behind the black shadow. But human hopes are earth-born;
they spring from the earth, like the flitting light of night, and
lead us into bogs and quagmires.
Yet it is beautiful to realize that we have had hopes; they are the
past light of the soul, and their glow yet lingers in this gloomy
twilight, reminding one that there has been a sunny day, and
memories of things pleasant and joyous mingle with the present
loneliness and cheerless desolation.
Words, that excited hopes, that awoke thrilling emotions, linger on
the listening ear. But, ah! the heart grows very sad, when the ear
listens in vain, and the yearning, unsatisfied spirit realizes that
the words, so loved, so fondly dwelt upon, were but words, empty,
vain words.
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