 | English Roses |  |
THE GOLDEN AGE.
See down the broadening years,
See through transforming fears
Greater the light appears,
Grander the glory;
Dawn of a brighter day,
Dawn of a better way,
With all the world at play—
God's new love-story.
See through transforming fears
Greater the light appears,
Grander the glory;
Dawn of a brighter day,
Dawn of a better way,
With all the world at play—
God's new love-story.
Larger the minds of men,
Fairer the women then,
Vaster the creed and ken
In a true living;
Gold in the wealthier books,
Gospels in children's looks,
Swords turned to pruning-hooks,
Earth one thanksgiving.
Fairer the women then,
Vaster the creed and ken
In a true living;
Gold in the wealthier books,
Gospels in children's looks,
Swords turned to pruning-hooks,
Earth one thanksgiving.
Others shall see those times,
Others shall hears the chimes
Wedding peals in all climes
Of the free nations;
Mine be alone the trust,
By gentle word or just
Deed to enrich the dust
Of the foundations.
Others shall hears the chimes
Wedding peals in all climes
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Mine be alone the trust,
By gentle word or just
Deed to enrich the dust
Of the foundations.
I can help kneeling now,
I can uplift a vow
Unto the Heaven and bow
In some dim corner;
I can achieve a part,
Whence nobler work may start,
If but the broken heart
Of a spent mourner.
I can uplift a vow
Unto the Heaven and bow
In some dim corner;
I can achieve a part,
Whence nobler work may start,
If but the broken heart
Of a spent mourner.
Others may tread me down,
Others may wear the crown
Of undeserved renown,
When I am ashes;
Never a tear for me,
In happier homes to be
When every land is free,
Dropt by dark lashes.
Others may wear the crown
Of undeserved renown,
When I am ashes;
Never a tear for me,
In happier homes to be
When every land is free,
Dropt by dark lashes.
Give me the martyrs' thrones,
If yet my crumbling bones
Serve as the stepping-stones
For wider stages;
Let me be only dross,
And over my dead loss
Shall ransomed peoples cross
To the crowned ages.
If yet my crumbling bones
Serve as the stepping-stones
For wider stages;
Let me be only dross,
And over my dead loss
Shall ransomed peoples cross
To the crowned ages.
| English Roses | |