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Dawn not Day! Is it Shame, so few should have climb'd
from the dens in the level below, Men, with a heart and a soul, no slaves
of a four-footed will ? But if twenty million of summers are
stored in the sunlight still, We are far from the noon of man, there
is time for the race to grow.
*I am losing the light of my Youth
and knaves, And wearied of Autocrats, Anarchs,
and Slaves, And darken'd with doubts of a Faith
that saves, And crimson with battles, and hollow
with graves, To the wail of my winds, and the moan
of my waves I whirl, and I follow the Sun.'
Red of the Dawn ! Is it turning a fainter red? so be it, but
when shall we lay The Ghost of the Brute that is walking
and haunting us yet, and be free? In a hundred, a thousand winters? Ah,
what will our children be, The men of a hundred thousand, a million
Was it only the wind of the Night shrill
ing out Desolation and wrong Thro' a dream of the dark? Yet he
thought that he answer'd her wail with a song
On a midnight in midwinter when all but
the winds were dead, *The meek shall inherit the earth' was a
Scripture that rang thro' his head, Till he dream'd that a Voice of the Earth
went wailingly past him and said:
(In the time of the first railways.) Now first we stand and understand,
And sunder false from true, And handle boldly with the hand,
And see and shape and do.
CROSSING THE BA
SUNSET and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
When I put out to sea,
Too full for sound and foam
boundless deep Turns again home.
“Spirit, nearing yon dark portal at the
limit of thy human state, DOUBT no longer that the Highest is the Fear not thou the hidden purpose of tha: wisest and the best,
Power which alone is great, Let not all that saddens Nature blight thy Nor the myriad world, His shadow, nor hope or break thy rest,
the silent Opener of the Gate.' Quail not at the fiery mountain, at the
shipwreck, or the rolling Thunder, or the rending earthquake, or the famine, or the pest!
THE DEATH OF THE DUKE
OF CLARENCE AND AVON-
TO THE MOURNERS. comes a gleam of what is higher. Wait till Death has flung them open,
The bridal garland falls upon the bier
, when the man will make the Maker
The shadow of a crown, that o'er him Dark no more with human hatreds in the
hung, glare of deathless fire !
Has vanish'd in the shadow cast b}
So princely, tender, truthful, reverent,
That a world-wide Empire WHEN the dumb Hour, clothed in black,
mourns with you, Brings the Dreams about my bed,
That all the Thrones are clouded by you Call me not so often back,
loss, Silent Voices of the dead,
Were slender solace. Yet be comforted;
For if this earth be ruled by Perfect
Then, after his brief range of blameless
days, Glimmering up the heights beyond me
The toll of funeral in an Angel ear On, and always on!
Sounds happier than the merriest mar
riage-bell. GOD AND THE UNIVERSE.
The face of Death is toward the Sun
His shadow darkens earth: his truer Will my tiny spark of being wholly van
Is 'Onward,' no discordance in the roll ish in your deeps and heights?
And march of that Eternal Harmony
Whereto the worlds beat time, tho' fainth
heard Rush of Suns, and roll of systems, and
Untti the great Hereafter. Mourn in