 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
38
ISAIAH.
Hear him, sore-travailing mother, patient earth,Hear the glad eloquence of this thy son;
The times of want and woe are well nigh done,
And old creation springs to second birth,
Toil's rest, care's cure, and melancholy's mirth:
O golden sabbath of the world, speed on;
Why tarrieth nature's King?—the woods, the waves,
The waiting righteous in their prison-graves,
The moan of famine, and the shriek of fear,
Entreat Thy coming, O Desire of all,
Theme of Isaiah's hope, in praise appear!
Great Monarch, take thy universal crown,
Even so, quickly: shall thy people call
In vain? O rend the heavens, and come down!
| Three Hundred Sonnets | |