EVERY moment in the gloaming, While the soul is ever roaming O'er the plains of love and life, Far beyond the cruel strife, Comes the voice of earnest duty, Yielding all the charm of beauty, While the heart forever burns, Or its shadowed passion turns Fortune's fears into a joy That our pains cannot annoy. Not on slothful eiderdown Comes the victor's golden crown; But in wildered ecstasy, Mind of man or fantasy Brings the joy of rest, Winning all its quest After toil and trouble, And the vanished bubble That our hopes had builded, And imagination gilded. Dreams of ancient story And of Godly glory Linger in the still twilight, And the dim religious light Of our memories and song, Cheering crowds that throng Brilliant halls and sacred fane, Lighting wand'rers o'er the main, While the sunny brighter morrow Halos all our sorrow. |