poem for pastors

night was black and drear
could we but know
i've won the race
her face is fair and smooth and fine
shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
death's nobility again
to what shall a woman liken her beloved
among the smoke and fog of a december afternoon
sweet splendor
and how could you dream of meeting
there was a time in former years
a mile behind
just as my fingers on these keys