 | Ephemeron |  |
In the depth of grief is lurking
Truth divine—and man might draw
Strength and comfort from the working
Of the ever-constant Law.
Truth divine—and man might draw
Strength and comfort from the working
Of the ever-constant Law.
12
Standing on eternal mountains,
Lifted from the plane of strife—
Bathed in the o'erflowing fountains
Of the Universal Life—
Lifted from the plane of strife—
Bathed in the o'erflowing fountains
Of the Universal Life—
Hast thou not, in pure elation
Born of Nature grand and free,
Felt the glow of inspiration
Shedding glimpses, e'en to thee,
Of the glory of Creation,
And the Joy that yet shall be?
Born of Nature grand and free,
Felt the glow of inspiration
Shedding glimpses, e'en to thee,
Of the glory of Creation,
And the Joy that yet shall be?
And the troubled heart is firmer—
And the sighing lips are dumb—
At the deep, prophetic murmur
Of the Wondrous Age to come.
And the sighing lips are dumb—
At the deep, prophetic murmur
Of the Wondrous Age to come.
Hear, with solemn, hushed emotion,
Where, in distant thunder, beat
Waves of the advancing Ocean
Soon to lave our very feet.
Where, in distant thunder, beat
Waves of the advancing Ocean
Soon to lave our very feet.
Through these early mists of morning—
Thrilling from the Unseen Shore,
Voices of august forewarning
Mingle with its endless roar;
And a mighty Day is dawning,
Such as never shone before!
Thrilling from the Unseen Shore,
13
Mingle with its endless roar;
And a mighty Day is dawning,
Such as never shone before!
Lo, the long-unopened Portal
On its threshold trembling stands!
Through the ancient Shadow Curtal,
Yet dividing these our Lands,
They that once, like us, were mortal,
Reach their dear remembered hands.
On its threshold trembling stands!
Through the ancient Shadow Curtal,
Yet dividing these our Lands,
They that once, like us, were mortal,
Reach their dear remembered hands.
Hopes undreamed shall those inherit,
That are faithful to the end—
Death with Life, and Clay with Spirit,
Shall converse, as friend with friend.
That are faithful to the end—
Death with Life, and Clay with Spirit,
Shall converse, as friend with friend.
Souls that erst, forlorn and lowly.
Sat in darkness and dismay,
Shall admire their melancholy—
Seeing every doubt decay
In the Light, serene and holy,
Of the Everlasting Day.
Sat in darkness and dismay,
Shall admire their melancholy—
Seeing every doubt decay
In the Light, serene and holy,
Of the Everlasting Day.
14
Lo, the dream Earth's children cherish,
In forgetting what they are!
But, meanwhile, we faint and perish
For the Fount that lies afar.
In forgetting what they are!
But, meanwhile, we faint and perish
For the Fount that lies afar.
God hath spoken, Christ hath risen,
Saints have dwelt and died below—
Yet the World is still a Prison,
Full of wrong, and full of woe!
Saints have dwelt and died below—
Yet the World is still a Prison,
Full of wrong, and full of woe!
Such as Rome's unhappy debtors,
In her height of glory, knew—
Lodged in darkness and in fetters,
Toiling for the lordly Few.
In her height of glory, knew—
Lodged in darkness and in fetters,
Toiling for the lordly Few.
In those dismal Ergastula,
Dungeoned from the glimmering day,
Shall each sullen turnkey-ruler
Hold his wretched thralls for aye?
Dungeoned from the glimmering day,
Shall each sullen turnkey-ruler
Hold his wretched thralls for aye?
Tremble, tyrants! Earth is waking
Like the Strong Man from his sleep!
Withe, and cord, and chain are breaking,
Ye had knotted fast and deep—
Ye, that sowed the wind—now quaking
At the whirlwind ye shall reap!
Like the Strong Man from his sleep!
Withe, and cord, and chain are breaking,
Ye had knotted fast and deep—
15
At the whirlwind ye shall reap!
Tremble, tyrant!—thou that seest
On thy wall the Hand Unknown!
Tremble, false and cursing priest!
Rule and awe thine ends alone—
Dreams of vague, bewildered deist,
Haply, purer than thine own.
On thy wall the Hand Unknown!
Tremble, false and cursing priest!
Rule and awe thine ends alone—
Dreams of vague, bewildered deist,
Haply, purer than thine own.
Still of creed and form observant,
Ever harping on the Word—
But, alas, how little fervent
For the Deed that must accord—
Thou unprofitable servant
In the Garden of thy Lord!
Ever harping on the Word—
But, alas, how little fervent
For the Deed that must accord—
Thou unprofitable servant
In the Garden of thy Lord!
| Ephemeron | |