 | Poems |  |
190
IN PART.
In part we prophesy. The restless heartSees, through the veil of this mysterious life,
Some shadows of the life to come—a part
Dimly drawn out. As by some painter's art
Lines, tints, and touches, seemingly at strife,
Resolve to fitness and to beauty start,
From deepest chaos, so the flitting dreams
That come like stingings of Ithuriel's dart,
Wakening the sleeping soul from that which seems
To that which is, and bridging o'er the streams
That part us from ourselves, shall yet become
Familiar as realities of home:
And welcome us, like some dear natural voice,
To that transcendent life where we shall yet rejoice.
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