 | The Visionary |  |
207
SONNET.
[These are portentous days! deep, awful days]
These are portentous days! deep, awful days,And men must gird their Souls to do and dare,
And meekly breathe to Heaven the imploring prayer,
For aid and for defence. Dread thorny ways
Have we to tread—and many a wildering maze
To thread and pierce—but hence! avaunt—Despair,
Avaunt ignoble Fear—and sordid Care.
Now let the good, the wise, shun all delays,
Prepared for Sufferance—or Resistance! Why,
Clouds dark as these have lowered round—let them go!
Those good, those just, those brave—can they deny
Their lofty natures—and turn, cowards—no!
Free, bold, and true—their trust is in the Sky,
And if it comes they will endure their woe.
| The Visionary | |