Listen to the sounds that fill the night.
They are not the sounds of joy’s delight:
The crickets’ plaintive murmur in the field,
And muffled dirges that the marshes yield...
The husky whimper of a nightjar,
An owl’s persistent mutterings that mar
The night’s soft beauty, and the shifting breeze
That whispers fitfully through shrouded trees.
Sad sounds, the sound of little broken things...
And then, a hush, and softly-folding wings.
And such, too, are sounds that reach our hearts
When Life’s bright sunshine all too soon departs;
And that dark night that slowly covers all.
It’s then the sound that comes is tears that fall
Upon the marble of a cold and silent tomb.
The sighs we hear we sadly know from whom
They come, with whispers of a heart sore tried
From which the well of tears is not yet dried.
So, let it be, for God has made it so
That "this, too, shall pass." The Sun’s warm glow
Shall yet dispel the heavy mists of sorrow.
There yet shall dawn a brighter, fairer morrow.
