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Title: A Little Longer
Author: Adelaide Anne Procter [
More Titles by Procter]
A little longer yet--a little longer,
Shall violets bloom for thee, and sweet birds sing;
And the lime branches where soft winds are blowing,
Shall murmur the sweet promise of the Spring!
A little longer yet--a little longer,
Thou shalt behold the quiet of the morn;
While tender grasses and awakening flowers
Send up a golden mist to greet the dawn!
A little longer yet--a little longer,
The tenderness of twilight shall be thine,
The rosy clouds that float o'er dying daylight,
Nor fade till trembling stars begin to shine.
A little longer yet--a little longer,
Shall starry night be beautiful for thee;
And the cold moon shall look through the blue silence,
Flooding her silver path upon the sea.
A little longer yet--a little longer,
Life shall be thine; life with its power to will;
Life with its strength to bear, to love, to conquer,
Bringing its thousand joys thy heart to fill.
A little longer yet--a little longer,
The voices thou hast loved shall charm thine ear;
And thy true heart, that now beats quick to hear them,
A little longer yet shall hold them dear.
A little longer yet--joy while thou mayest;
Love and rejoice! for time has nought in store;
And soon the darkness of the grave shall bid thee
Love and rejoice and feel and know no more.
* * *
A little longer still--Patience, Beloved:
A little longer still, ere Heaven unroll
The Glory, and the Brightness, and the Wonder,
Eternal, and divine, that waits thy Soul!
A little longer ere Life true, immortal,
(Not this our shadowy Life,) will be thine own;
And thou shalt stand where winged Archangels worship,
And trembling bow before the Great White Throne.
A little longer still, and Heaven awaits thee,
And fills thy spirit with a great delight;
Then our pale joys will seem a dream forgotten,
Our Sun a darkness, and our Day a Night.
A little longer, and thy Heart, Beloved,
Shall beat for ever with a Love divine;
And joy so pure, so mighty, so eternal,
No creature knows and lives, will then be thine.
A little longer yet--and angel voices
Shall ring in heavenly chant upon thine ear;
Angels and Saints await thee, and God needs thee:
Beloved, can we bid thee linger here!
[The end]
Adelaide Anne Procter's poem: Little Longer
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