WITHIN the pauses of the anthem falls a hush,
And the deep organ's solemn voice goes on alone
In a low undertone,
As rain comes sometimes with a sudden sweeping rush,
And then is still, save that it slowly drips and falls
From leaves at intervals.
So memory sings alone
Between the busy hours when comes a lull,
And naught is audible
But its low undertone.
So darkness drops between the days, an interlude
When night's low sighing stirs the sleepy solitude.
So, when the little cycle of this life is rounded,
Before the spirit enters into life unbounded,
It waits to hear, with bated breath,
The solemn interlude of death.