 | The Two Brothers, and other poems |  |
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NO MORE CRYING.
I lay upon my bed, and dream'd a dream.Time and its conflicts had, methought, long since
Been number'd with the past. Nothing was heard
But Hallelujahs from the universe:
Our Father's will was done, His kingdom come:
Earth was a nursery for heaven. When, lo!
Among the mingled ranks of saints and seraphs
Who stood before the throne, a short sharp cry—
A short, sharp, passionate cry—suddenly rose:
One cry, and from the humblest of that throng;
One little cry, and in a moment hush'd.
But instantly the glorious tide of praise,
Which for long ages had flow'd on and on
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Was troubled. Angel on archangel look'd
Amazed, abash'd, appall'd: saint gazed on saint
Incredulous: and quickly through all worlds
The sympathetic tidings spread dismay.
Wherefore? Was heaven's felicity so frail?
Whence had that cry such terrors? Sin, sin, sin:
Faint, feeble, fugitive; but real sin.
Had Satan broken loose? Should evil cast
Again its dismal shadow over good?
Angels grew pale; all faces gather'd gloom;
Thunders began to roll. And with the shock
I woke; and waking knew it was a dream,
A feverish nightmare-dream, earth-born, earth-bred,
And one of heaven's impossibilities.
1867.
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