The Hour's Glory
(Suggested by Emerson's Essay, "Works and Days.")
Each hour has some glory all its own,
Some silver lull of streams unheard before,
Some glimpses rare of Nature's loveliness,
Some song with sweetness newer than of yore.
Each hour waiting spirits, Peace and Hope,
Stand near us if we wave them not away;
Each hour questions haunt us, bearing balm
Imprisoned in the potent
yea or nay
Each hour is a Sibyl, weird and strange,
Of eye prophetic and of backward glance;
Each is a restless bird checked in its flight,
A whisper that will nevermore entrance.
Each hour souls may catch celestial pćans
Of subtle meaning, stealing from afar;
As when through shad'wy deeps of purple skies,
In voiceless harmony star follows star.
Each hour may gain beauty from the Past,
And with the Future's coming glory gleam;
But in the light of this, all radiance fades:
Each hour is a
and not a