 | Jones Very : The Complete Poems |  |
The White Horse
The Word goes forth! I see its conquering way,O'er seas and mountains sweeps it mighty on;
The tribes of men are bowing 'neath its sway,
The pomp of kings, the pride of wisdom's gone;
Behold, the poor have raised the victor's shout;
The meek are crowned, their triumph too is nigh;
The barren now no more a son can doubt;
The mourner wipes her cheek and glittering eye;
Hark from the lofty places comes a groan,
That they cannot their wealth ill-gotten hide;
The midnight darkness from the thief is flown,
The garment's rent of falsely clothed pride;
The veil is drawn; the judgement seat appears;
I see joy mingling with a world in tears.
Poem No. 597; late 1838–early 1839
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