The day has been wild and stormy,
And full of the wind's unrest,
And I sat down alone by the window,
While the sunset dyed the West;
And the holy rush of twilight,
As the day went over the hill,
Like the voice of a spirit seemed speaking
And saying, 'Peace be still.'
Then I thought with sudden longing,
That it might be so with my woes;
That the life so wild and restless,
When it reached the eve's repose,
Might glow with a sudden glory,
And be crowned with peace and rest;
And the holy calm of twilight
Might come to my troubled breast.
All of the pain and passion
That trouble my life's long day
As the winds go down at sunset,
May suddenly pass away.
And the wild and turbulent billows,
That surge in my heart at will,
Shall be hushed into calm and silence
By the whisper, 'Peace be still.'
And my soul grew full of patience,
And I said, 'I can bear it all,
Though the day be long and stormy,
The twilight at last must fall.'
Yesterdays. By Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
London: Gay & Hancock, 1916.
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