 | My Lyrical Life |  |
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LIGHT AT LAST.
The sleep of the Dreamer is dying;
The Dream is about to be born:
'Tis the Vision of England untying
The crown of poor Ireland's Thorn!
The Dream is about to be born:
'Tis the Vision of England untying
The crown of poor Ireland's Thorn!
The Night with its phantoms is flying,
And we shall see clearer at morn:
We feel the first airs that come sighing,
New life to awaken; and warn
And we shall see clearer at morn:
We feel the first airs that come sighing,
New life to awaken; and warn
Of a Light in which tears shall be drying,
And hell-fire no longer can burn:
Immortals with mortals are vieing
To lift up the fall'n and forlorn:
And hell-fire no longer can burn:
Immortals with mortals are vieing
To lift up the fall'n and forlorn:
Our old Earth shall cease from her crying,
Nor vainly to Heaven will yearn:
We stand 'twixt the dawning and dying,
That mingle their Verge and their Bourne:
Nor vainly to Heaven will yearn:
We stand 'twixt the dawning and dying,
That mingle their Verge and their Bourne:
The Past with its Shroud-Shadows trying
To hide its face, tortured and torn;
The Future before us Enskying
A glimpse of Millennial Morn:
To hide its face, tortured and torn;
The Future before us Enskying
A glimpse of Millennial Morn:
'Tis the Vision of England untying
The crown of poor Ireland's Thorn;
And the sleep of the Dreamer is dying:
The Dream is about to be born.
The crown of poor Ireland's Thorn;
And the sleep of the Dreamer is dying:
The Dream is about to be born.
| My Lyrical Life | |