Though Death you once came near me,
I feared thee not, nor fear thee;
But I misdoubt thee eld!—
Thy poverty and 'plaining,
Thy little strength still waning,
Thy hope for ever quelled.
Sad dimming of the glory,
Poor climax to the story,
Vain end of toil and teen,—
To live to the effacement
Of ourselves, and the abasement
Of all that we have been.
This doom still hanging o'er us,
Grey childhood still before us,
Nought made or meant to last,
If, tost upon the ocean,
We but felt through the commotion
God held a purpose fast!