„No star is o'er the lake,
Its pale watch keeping,
The moon is half awake,
Through gray mist creeping,
The last red leaves fall round
The porch of roses,
The clock hath ceased to sound,
The long day closes.
Sit by the silent hearth
In calm endeavour,
To count the sounds of mirth,
Now dumb for ever.
Heed not how hope believes
And fate disposes:
Shadow is round the eaves,
The long day closes;
The lighted windows dim
Are fading slowly.
The fire that was so trim
Now quivers lowly.
Go to the dreamless bed
Where grief reposes,
Thy book of toil is read,
The long day closes.“
(If you like the poem a little, you may like this a lot:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qqoE_pW7a8M)
How can a song that is so utterly sad that it can very well make you cry
when you dwell on the lyrics for a while be so beautiful at the same time?
It would seem that the romantics add so much depth and texture to our days
that we often miss. (At least this is why I think we all love them, and rightly
so.)
And yet, they may betray us. They may lead us to mistake vanity for
meaning.
We have never been meant to die. We have been created to run downhill on grassy
slopes and to feel the sun on our skin and the wind in our hair, to
investigate, to care, to make grace tangible, to walk through the garden with
our creator. Much of that paradise has been lost. But we can be restored. We
can be cleansed from our sin that parts us from God.
Jesus has died for us that we could live, and have it to the full.
And yes, many of us suffer so much. I am not sure, whether this book of
toil exists. But when we will be with the Lord Jesus, he will dry our tears and
he will be our light for that long day, that begins and will go on forever and
ever.
I did not see a temple in the city, because the Lord God Almighty and the
Lamb are its temple. The city does not need the sun or the moon to shine on it,
for the glory of God gives it light, and the Lamb is its lamp. The nations will
walk by its light, and the kings of the earth will bring their splendour into
it.“
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