CONFIDENCE

KATHARINE J. SMITH.

Night found me in a pathless way and drear,
Halting before the temper of the hail;
I looked to train my steps, but groped in fear;
I prayed with hapless patience to avail
One favor of the beam-bestowing moon.
Though blotted out the sun of all her light,
And all her olden path was spell'd in gloom.

I laid me down and trusted, for I knew
That sullen night pays gentlest court to dawn;
And when, refreshed, I saw mid-morning's blue,
Despite the regnant sun a sign was born,—
A sky-swung silvern sickle, spectral pure,
Had reaped the clouds, and o'er a world benign
Paused day resplendent and with comfort sure.

Whose but the mighty hand of Love can reap
The tossing clouds, the fears that rock and rend,
And stay the straying foot upon the steep,
Gloom-pinnacled, where crag-browed wastes ascend?
The hope that hath no ray by morn, nor moon,
Shall see, betimes, the omen missed by night
Shine in her olden path at tide of noon.

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CONFIDENCE

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