( Originally Published Early 1900's )
The seas are quiet when the winds give o'er ;
So calm are we when passions are no more ;
For then we know how vain it was to boast
Of fleeting things, too certain to be lost.
Couds of affection from our younger eyes
Conceal that emptiness which age descries ;
The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed,
Lets in new light through chinks that time has made.
Stronger by weakness, wiser men become
As they draw near to their eternal home ;
Leaving the Old, at once both worlds they view
That stand upon the threshold of the New.