The Work of Afro-American Women
Swiftly beyond recall,
The years are fleeting fast;
The brittle threads of time,
Will gently break at last.
O man of wisdom, canst thou tell,
Why human hearts love here to dwell?
Is it because earth yields
So many treasures rare?
Is it because life gives
So many pleasures fair?
Cease, doubting soul; it may be fate
That bids thee through the years to wait.
Bright flowers and pricking thorns
Bestrew this life's highway,
Where weary feet still tread
The changing paths of day.
But there is bliss for all the tears
That seem to dim the fleeting years.
We know, beyond the veil,
There is some hidden joy;
'Tis worth this life to live,
That we may then employ
Our trembling lips, in praise sublime,
Beyond the boundless space of time.
And shall we then despise
The day of smallest things?
Ah, no! these souls of ours
Shall soon on angel's wings
Be borne aloft, when years shall cease,
To rest in perfect joy and peace.
FRANCIS A. PARKER.