IN THE DARK.

O in the depths of midnight

What fancies haunt the brain!

When even the sigh of the sleeper

Sounds like a sob of pain.

A sense of awe and of wonder

I may never well define,—

For the thoughts that come in the shadows

Never come in the shine.

The old clock down in the parlor

Like a sleepless mourner grieves,

And the seconds drip in the silence

As the rain drips from the eaves.

And I think of the hands that signal

The hours there in the gloom,

And wonder what angel watchers

Wait in the darkened room.

And I think of the smiling faces

That used to watch and wait,

Till the click of the clock was answered

By the click of the opening gate.—

They are not there now in the evening —

Morning or noon — not there;

Yet I know that they keep their vigil,

And wait for me Somewhere.