These quiet Autumn days,
My soul, like Noah's dove, on airy wings
Goes out and searches for the hidden things
Beyond the hills of haze.
With mournful, pleading cries,
Above the waters of the voiceless sea
That laps the shores of broad Eternity,
Day after day it flies.
Searching, but all in vain,
For some stray leaf that it may light upon
And read the future as the days agone--
Its joy, its pain.
For some voice speaking from the mighty deep,
Revealing all the secrets it doth keep,
In secret there for me.
Come back and wait, my soul!
Day after day thy search has been in vain.
Voiceless and silent, o'er the future's pain,
Its mistic waters roll.
God, seeing, knoweth best,
And day by day the waters shall subside,
And thou shalt know what lies beneath the tide;
Then wait, my soul, and rest.
Poems of reflection. By Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
Chicago, M.A. Donohue & company [c1905].
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