There comes a time to every mortal being,
What'er his station or his lot in life,
When his sad soul yearns for the final freeing
From all this jarring and unceasing strife.
There comes a time, when, having lost its savour,
The salt of wealth is worthless; when the mind
Grows wearied with the world's capricious favour,
And sighs for something that it cannot find.
There comes a time, when, though kind friends are thronging,
About our pathway with sweet acts of grace,
We feel a vast and overwhelming longing
For something that we cannot name or place.
There comes a time, when, with earth's best love by us,
To feed the heart's great hunger and desire,
We find not even this can satisfy us;
The soul within us cries for something higher.
What greater proof need we that we inherit
A life immortal in another sphere?
It is the homesick longing of the spirit
That cannot find its satisfaction here.
Poetical works of Ella Wheeler Wilcox. by Ella Wheeler Wilcox Edinburgh : W. P. Nimmo, Hay, & Mitchell, 1917.
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