Days and Hours :: :: University of Virginia Library

Sisters of Earth, and Daughters of the Sun,
Who gaze on Him, and in his glory share,
Have ye no winged messengers to bear
Some tidings of the things that ye have done,
And suffer'd since the ancient Days begun?

II

Since those high splendors down upon us rain'd,
Are there no mighty songs that ye have sung,
No holy triumphs out of Evil wrung,
No thunder-vollied victories ye have gain'd,
Or hath no wrong those happy isles profaned?

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III

Are the far spirits that inhabit ye
Scarr'd with deep sin by Saints to be atoned?
Or crown'd in primal Honor, and enthroned
In their immaculate felicity
And still rejoicing immortality?

IV

Do they draw strength each moment from the Giver
Of Life, and with unflinching eyes behold
Glories to Bard or Prophet yet untold,
And hear the unfailing Oracle deliver
Voices, and lightnings, issuing for ever?

V

Doth Sorrow walk on those illumined floors
Follow'd by Death? Doth Mutability
Waste and renew your atoms? When we die
Do our pale Phantoms flock unto your shores
O'er the great Ocean which your light explores?

222

VI

Oh! will those hearts, that might not flourish here,
Find there a fitter clime, and put forth flowers?
Tempestuous Passion breathe serener hours,
Fond Love behold an ever-vernal year,
Pale Grief, and Care an ever-sunny sphere?

VII

Will secret instincts fathomless to men
Clasp sympathetic natures, and unfold?
Great thoughts to understanding ears be told?
Sad Spirits fetter'd unto years of pain
Cast off remembrance, and grow young again?

VIII

Lovely ye be—and while I marvel still,
Still must I think, that under those sweet beams
That breathe from ye, like love, upon our dreams,
There is no conscience dark, no rebel will,
No heart of living thing that throbs with ill.

223

IX

Ye sumless Hosts, that stretch beyond the sight,
And pass away for ever—are ye trod
Like dust by the departing steps of God,
As He sends forward thro' the abysmal Night
His mighty voice that turns the Dark to Light?

X

Doth the great cry of Lamentation stream
Thro' all your Stars, and echo to the Throne
Where He abides unshaken and alone,
Behind empyreal battlements supreme,
That show Creation dimmer than a dream

XI

And if I whisper in mine inmost heart,
‘Couldst Thou be happy if the Truth were so?’
Ye wakeful Spirits that around us flow,
Bear not away that thought, lest, when ye part,
With mortal woe ye make the Blessed start!

224

XII

Ah! no, no—rather let me think of Thee,
That nearer still, and nearer, hour by hour,
Thy Coming shines—thy Truth, thy Glory and Power—
Till this dim weeping Home of ours shall be
Lit by thy Presence—One to hear and see!