Another Day by Arthur Wallace Peach

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Tacoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Sep 21, 1911

Another Day

By Arthur Wallace Peach

“ANOTHER day is done,” you say, with careless speech. Ah! think you where this little day may reach?

Into a tomb where some one is asleep, While those who loved too late in anguish weep.

Into a heart where all is still and dark, Save where a ghostly hope lies white and stark.

To trembling lips that would a word recall Which some wild moment carelessly let fall.

Into a brain that formed a wicked deed For whose deep hurt there is no balm nor meed.

Into eyes sightless that this morning knew Each blossom’s tint, the sky’s far, tender blue.

These thoughts are dark—the vines that clasp a tomb? Still bears the day its wreaths of golden bloom.

For gentle hands of love have crowned this day With deeds whose beauty never fades away.

To-day, lips sang their cheery, happy song; And hearts have spoken hearts’ deep yearning long.

And weary feet that sought the valley still Turn back once more a mission to fulfil.

“Another day is done,”—ah! yes! a hundred years, Each moment crowned with joy or palled with tears.

Be wise, O human heart! not far away Beyond the sunset waits—another day!

—Arthur Wallace Peach.