UNEXPLAINED.

There are many ways in this feverish life Where the rocks are grim and bare, With no soil for tender plants and flowers, Nor rain nor dew is there; Where the sterile rocks are bleak and bare, And the skies are shrouded and gray, With sweeping winds from a desolate sea, Where there’s never a summer day. And a burning sun in a desert land, And the winter stern and cold, And the wandering feet without a home, And weary and poor and old; And the poor in heart where all love hath died, And the dreary, haunting years, And the friendship dead, and the broken home, And regret and pain and tears. And the hopes that died, and the broken vows That severed far and wide, And the toilworn hands, and the sad unrest, And the loss on every side; And the favored ones ’neath sunny skies That dream there the hours away, And the struggling poor in barren lands, Where sad day follows day. And the ships that sail over angry seas, And nevermore reach the shore; And the aching hearts, and the weary watch For the loved that come no more. Ah! I cannot still all these strange, sad thoughts, Nor stay these falling tears; The lonesome way is rough and long Through life’s uncertain years. And at times in the solemn night-time still I sink by the hard way alone, With the voiceless silence around me, And my troubled rest a stone. There comes to me a glad thought through the gloom, That rest will the sweeter be When the weary burden is cast aside On the shores of eternity.