| |
| FOR a season there must be pain— | |
| For a little, little space | |
| I shall lose the sight of her face, | |
| Take back the old life again | |
| While She is at rest in her place. | 5 |
| |
| For a season this pain must endure, | |
| For a little, little while | |
| I shall sigh more often than smile | |
| Till Time shall work me a cure, | |
| And the pitiful days beguile. | 10 |
| |
| For that season we must be apart, | |
| For a little length of years, | |
| Till my life’s last hour nears, | |
| And, above the beat of my heart, | |
| I hear Her voice in my ears. | 15 |
| |
| But I shall not understand— | |
| Being set on some later love, | |
| Shall not know her for whom I strove, | |
| Till she reach me forth her hand, | |
| Saying, “Who but I have the right?” | 20 |
| And out of a troubled night | |
| Shall draw me safe to the land. | |
| |
