The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
 | XI. |
|
|
“THE STERNEST HOUR”
|
|
| I. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
8
“THE STERNEST HOUR”
SONNET
O frivolous hearts that waste your days in dreams
Most weak, most futile, if the truth were known
Might it not startle on her wave-washed throne
England, and streak her heaven with blood-red gleams?
Though all so calm, so safe, so tranquil seems,
What if on us man's race, on us alone,
The fate of all the Universe, sun-sown,
Depends? What if we shape the stellar schemes?
Most weak, most futile, if the truth were known
Might it not startle on her wave-washed throne
England, and streak her heaven with blood-red gleams?
Though all so calm, so safe, so tranquil seems,
What if on us man's race, on us alone,
The fate of all the Universe, sun-sown,
Depends? What if we shape the stellar schemes?
It may be that the sternest hour has come
In all the life of all the globes we see
Thronging the dark plains of eternity.
Of all past ages ours may be the sum.
One planet speaks amid the millions dumb,
Urging huge hosts towards unknown victory.
In all the life of all the globes we see
Thronging the dark plains of eternity.
Of all past ages ours may be the sum.
One planet speaks amid the millions dumb,
Urging huge hosts towards unknown victory.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |