Chapter 8 : 
The Day Of Days
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Author : William Morris

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Each eve earth falleth down the dark,  
As though its hope were o'er;  
Yet lurks the sun when day is done  
Behind to-morrow's door.  

Gray grows the dawn while men-folk sleep,  
Unseen spreads on the light,  
Till the thrush sings to the colored things,  
And earth forgets the night.  

No otherwise wends on our Hope:  
E'en as a tale that's told  
Are fair lives lost, and all the cost  
Of wise and true and bold.  

We've toiled and failed; we spake the word;  
None hearkened; dumb we lie;  
Our Hope is dead, the seed we spread  
Fell o'er the earth to die.  

What's this?  For joy our hearts stand still,  
And life is loved and dear,  
The lost and found the Cause hath crowned,  
The Day of Days is here.  


     From : Marxists.org

Events :
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     Chapter 8 -- Added : February 26, 2021

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