 | Poems by Julia C. R. Dorr |  |
457
IN MARBLE PRAYER
(CANTERBURY, 1891)
So still, so still they lie
As centuries pass by,
Their pale hands folded in imploring prayer;
They never lift their eyes
In sudden, sweet surprise;
The wandering winds stir not their heavy hair;
Forth from their close-sealed lips
Nor moan, nor laughter, slips,
Nor lightest sigh to wake the entrancèd air!
As centuries pass by,
Their pale hands folded in imploring prayer;
They never lift their eyes
In sudden, sweet surprise;
The wandering winds stir not their heavy hair;
Forth from their close-sealed lips
Nor moan, nor laughter, slips,
Nor lightest sigh to wake the entrancèd air!
Yet evermore they pray!
We creatures of a day
Live, love, and vanish from the gaze of men;
Nations arise and fall;
Oblivion's heavy pall
Hides kings and princes from all human ken,
While these in marble state,
From age to age await
The rolling thunder of the last amen!
We creatures of a day
Live, love, and vanish from the gaze of men;
Nations arise and fall;
Oblivion's heavy pall
Hides kings and princes from all human ken,
While these in marble state,
From age to age await
The rolling thunder of the last amen!
Not in dim crypts alone,
Or aisles of fretted stone,
Where high cathedral altars gleam afar;
And the red light streams down
On mitre and on crown,
Till each proud jewel blazes like a star;
But where the tall grass waves
O'er long-forgotten graves,
Their silent worship no rude sounds can mar!
Or aisles of fretted stone,
Where high cathedral altars gleam afar;
And the red light streams down
On mitre and on crown,
458
But where the tall grass waves
O'er long-forgotten graves,
Their silent worship no rude sounds can mar!
Dost Thou not hear and heed?
O, in Earth's utmost need
Wilt Thou not hearken, Thou who didst create?
Not for themselves they pray
Whose woes have passed for aye;
For us, for us, before Thy throne they wait!
Thou Sovereign Lord of All,
On whom they mutely call,
Hear Thou and answer from thine high estate!
O, in Earth's utmost need
Wilt Thou not hearken, Thou who didst create?
Not for themselves they pray
Whose woes have passed for aye;
For us, for us, before Thy throne they wait!
Thou Sovereign Lord of All,
On whom they mutely call,
Hear Thou and answer from thine high estate!
| Poems by Julia C. R. Dorr | |