THOUGH I go forth, I face the dark with singing.
Think not that for love’s sake life starves for song;
That which thou canst not give may yet be bringing
Bread to the soul, and wine that maketh strong.
Love is the manna that grows great with giving;
Thine is the gift, but mine the endless store;
Pain, the keen note that thrills to fuller living,
Calls to the heart across a boundless shore.
Into the night I go, but not without thee,
Though nevermore beside me whilst I sing;
The splendor of the stars is round about me,
And with the dawn life mounts on higher wing!
Virginia Woodward Cloud.