Флоренс Эрл Коутс (Florence Earle Coates)

In Darkness

         ⁠⁠I will be still;
The terror drawing nigh
Shall startle from my lips no coward cry;
Nay, though the night my deadliest dread fulfill,
⁠⁠         I will be still.

⁠⁠         For, oh! I know,
Though suffering hours delay,
Yet to Eternity they pass away,
Carrying something onward as they flow,
⁠⁠         Outlasting woe!

         ⁠⁠Yes, something won;
The harvest of our tears,—
Something unfading, plucked from fading years;
Something to blossom on beyond the sun,
         ⁠⁠From Sorrow won.

         ⁠⁠The agony
So hopeless now of balm
Shall sleep at last, in light as pure and calm
As that wherewith the stars look down on thee,
         ⁠⁠Gethsemane.

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