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Poem by Bernard Barton
«Which Things are a Shadow»
I SAW a stream whose waves were bright With morning’s dazzling sheen; But gathering clouds, ere fall of night, Had darken’d o’er the scene: “How like that tide,” My spirit sighed, “This life to me hath been.” The clouds dispersed; the glowing west Was bright with closing day; And o’er the river’s peaceful breast Shone forth the sunset ray:— My spirit caught The soothing thought, “This life might pass away.” I saw a tree with ripening fruit And shady foliage crown’d; But, ah! the axe was at its root, And fell’d it to the ground: Well might that tree Recall to me The doom my hopes had found. The fire consum’d it; but I saw Its smoke ascend on high— A shadowy type, beheld with awe, Of that which will not die, But from the grave Will rise and have A refuge in the sky.
Bernard Barton's other poems:
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