Slipping Away

Slipping away---slipping away!
Out of our brief year slips the May;
And Winter lingers, and Summer flies;
And Sorrow abideth, and Pleasure dies;
And the days are short, and the nights are long;
And little is right, and much is wrong.

Slipping away is the Summer-time;
It has lost its rhythm and lilting rhyme---
For the grace goes out of the day so soon,
And the tired head aches in the glare of noon,
And the way seems long to the hills that lie
Under the calm of the western sky.

Slipping away are the friends whose worth
Lent a glow to the sad old earth:
One by one they slip from our sight;
One by one their graves gleam white;
Or we count them lost by the crueller death
Of a trust betrayed, or a murdered faith.

Slipping away are the hopes that made
Bliss out of sorrow, and sun out of shade;
Slipping away is our hold on life;
And out of the struggle and wearing strife,
From joys that diminish, and woes that increase,
We are slipping away to the shores of Peace.

~Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The Sky Grows Dark

Under a young sun, under a new star
Out in the wild, newborn night
From the crest of a mountain wrought of light
The water is fair in the moonlight
And the shadow of evil is far.

Under a white light, under a brilliant sky
Far from the dark of the shadowy heights
Lost in the fragrance of the innocent night
Watching the dawn’s first radiant light
As the shining stars slip by.

Under a golden moon, under a silver sky
Search for the sea of molten gold
But the river is deep and the water is cold
This is your price, bought with those words,
And now they are all going to die.

Under a darker light, under a dusky sky,
Fallen in love with the silent night
Wandering alone in a gray twilight
The moon is fair and the stars are bright
But the sun has gone out and no one knows why.

Under a dying moon, under a fading star,
The heavens are washed in the prophet's tears
These are the final, accursed years
They cry in the darkness, alone with their fears
And in the end - the sky grows dark.

The Winds

North Wind of the Northern Storm
Sounding the Northern battle-horn
Where are the Warriors of the Sky
Who went to the battle field to die
And fell beneath their banner, high?
Beautiful, terrible, men of pride
They were the Sons of the Sunrise

West Wind of the Sacred Sea
Swift and wild, fair and free
Where are the children who came to thee
In their white vessels, light and fleet
Who lie now awake in your bosom deep
And wait for those who have fallen asleep?
They were the Sons of the Seven Seas.

South Wind of the Holy Hill
Whispering through the forests still
Where is the Holy Tree of Light
That cast its silver radiance white
And with its shining rays, bright
Illuminated the silent night
And gathered the Faithful one last time?

East Wind of the Silver Star
Cold and distant, bright and far
Who watched the Sunrise go to War
And saw the Sons of the Seven Seas
And pierced the vast eternal dark
And shone on the Hill of the Holy Tree
Everlasting, Silver Star.