IN THE DARK.
Reading edition
O in the depths of midnight What fancies haunt the brain! When even the sigh of the sleeper Sounds like a sob of pain. A sense of awe and of wonder I may never well define,— For the thoughts that come in the shadows Never come in the shine. The old clock down in the parlor Like a sleepless mourner grieves, And the seconds drip in the silence As the rain drips from the eaves. And I think of the hands that signal The hours there in the gloom, And wonder what angel watchers Wait in the darkened room. And I think of the smiling faces That used to watch and wait, Till the click of the clock was answered By the click of the opening gate.— They are not there now in the evening— Morning or noon—not there; Yet I know that they keep their vigil, And wait for me Somewhere.