01. Lyrics by Lamplight


The lamp is lit, the wick burns clear;

The night is still, without, within.

Time in his chariot draws not near

To rouse the call of chanticleer,

Day to begin.


Only the ancient clock betrays

The passing of the present now;

But though his finger onward strays

He seems to mark recovered days

From memory’s slough.


His bland face looks on what is gone

With lamplight tremulous, benign.

His hesitating tick beats on

And back into the past we’re won

By his design.


The lamplight flowing through the room

Becomes the sun.  The walls recede;

Broad day strides in, dispels the gloom,

Shadows are swept by golden broom

And thought is freed.


Dear voices sing again the airs

With which my yesterdays were sweet;

Eyes smile anew and, unawares,

I hurry back to join their prayers

On eager feet.


Weekly Times 6.1.61