IV

For lo, what changes time can bring!

      The cycles of revolving years

      May free my heart from all its fears,

And teach my lips a song to sing.

Before yon field of trembling gold

      Is garnered into dusty sheaves,

      Or ere the autumn's scarlet leaves

Flutter as birds adown the wold,

I may have run the glorious race,

      And caught the torch while yet aflame,

      And called upon the holy name

Of Him who now doth hide His face.

Arona.