from the archive.

To you, who look below,  Where little candles glow— Who listen in a narrow street, Confused with noise of passing feet— To you ’tis wild and dark;  No light, no guide, no ark, For travellers lost on moor and lea, And ship-wrecked mariners at sea. But they who stand apart,  With hushed but wakeful heart— They hear the lulling of the gale, And see the dawn-rise faint and pale. A dawn whereto they grope  In trembling faith and hope, If haply, brightening, it may cast A gleam on path and goal at last.