At sunset, when the rosy light was dying
Far down the pathway of the west,
I saw a lonely dove in silence flying
To be at rest.
"Pilgrim of air," I cried, "could I but borrow
Thy wandering wings, thy freedom blest,
I'd fly away from every careful sorrow,
And find my rest."
But when the dusk a filmy veil was weaving,
Back came the dove to seek her nest,
Deep in the forest, where her mate was grieving—
There was true rest.
Peace, heart of mine, no longer sigh to wander,
Lose not thy life in fruitless quest;
There are no happy islands over yonder,
Come home and rest.
From Christian Work
More Articles by This Author James Allen
James Allen was a little-known philosophical writer and poet. He is best recognized for his book, As a Man Thinketh. Allen wrote about complex subjects such as faith, destiny, love, patience, and religion but had the unique ability of explaining these subjects clearly and in a way that is easy to understand. He often wrote about cause and effect, sowing and reaping, as well as overcoming sadness, sorrow, and grief. For more information on the life of James Allen, click here.