Sonnet 1

On weary days when joy seems dead and gone, When friends are false and failure I must be, And stern clocks slow the minutes' running on, And sorrow hides in bathroom stalls to weep; Then sad heart fills despairing head with home, With thoughts of comfort, gladness, safety, peace. I count the time 'till tearful veils are gone, When stern commands, displeasure, all must cease. Yes, many a day in life, that strenuous run, The hope of home sustains a tearful face. This hope: poor shadow of the joy to come, When then, at last, we end the hard-won race. Mere harbinger, my haven here must be, Until I come to'eternal heav'n with Thee.