Out of Time

My wife, my dear old cottage home,

my babe, the spot where joys abound,

soft o'er the chords my fingers roam,

how clear the tones resound.

But sometimes, when I hear afar

the sea-bound rivers, cataracts roaring,

like life its anthem deep outpouring,

one tone my silent peace would mar;

then loud I cry, lamenting pray:

More light, more light for one short day!

And bleeding in your hands I place

my heart with pale averted face;

till free from fear it cease to languish

and beat no more to grief and anguish

till duty and desire it know.

Home fireside bliss, home fireside glow.