 | Selections from the American poets |  |
THE SON.
Father, I wait thy word. The sun doth standBeneath the mingling line of night and day,
A listening servant, waiting thy command
To roll rejoicing on its silent way;
The tongue of Time abides the appointed hour,
Till on our ear its solemn warnings fall;
The heavy cloud withholds the pelting shower,
Then every drop speeds onward at thy call;
251
With breast unswollen by the tide of song,
So does my spirit wait thy presence now
To pour thy praise in quickening life along,
Chiding with voice divine man's lengthen'd sleep,
While round the Unutter'd Word and Love their vigils keep.
| Selections from the American poets | |