Rutha.

The days are long and lonely,         The weary eve comes on,     And the nights are filled with dreaming         Of one beloved and gone.     I reach out in the darkness         And clasp but empty air,     For Rutha dear has vanished -         I wonder, wonder where.     Yet must it be: her nature         So lovely, pure, and true;     So nearly like the angels,         Is she an angel too.     The cottage is dismantled         Of all that made it bright;     Beyond its silent portal         No love, nor life, nor light.     Where are the hopes I cherished,         The joys that once I knew,     The dreams, the aspirations?         All, all are perished too.     Yes, love's dear chain is broken;         From shore to shore I roam -     No comfort, no companion,         No happiness, no home.     Oh could I but enfold her         Unto my heart once more,     If aught could e'er restore me         My darling as before;     If God would only tell me -         Such myriads above -     Why He must needs have taken         The one I loved to love;     If God would only tell me         Why multitudes are left,     Unhappy and unlovely,         And I am thus bereft;     If - O my soul, be silent         And some day thou shalt see     Through mystery and shadow,         And know why it must be.     To every cry of anguish         From every heart distressed,     Can be no other answer         Than this - God knoweth best.