Even so, O Life, all tremulous with woe,
Thou too didst cower when, without sound or jar,
From the high zenith sinking fast and far,
Thy sun went out of heaven! How couldst thou know
In that dark hour, that never tide could flow
So ebon-black, nor ever mountain-bar
Breast night so deep, without or moon or star,
But that the morning yet again must glow?
God never leaves thee in relentless dark.
Slowly the dawn on unbelieving eyes
Breaketh at last. Day brightens,--and, oh hark!
A flood of bird-song from the tender skies!
From storm and darkness thou hast found an ark,
Shut in with this great marvel of surprise!