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Thy sorrow shall no more be pain,

Its tears shall fall in sunlit rain, Writing the grave with flowers:“ Arisen again!”

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Y ear is full of summer sounds, IVI Of summer sights my languid eye; Beyond the dusty village bounds I loiter in my daily rounds,

And in the noon-time shadows lie.

I hear the wild bee wind his horn,

The bird swings on the ripened wheat, The long green lances of the corn Are tilting in the winds of morn,

The locust shrills his song of heat.

· Another sound my spirit hears, A deeper sound that drowns them all, —

A voice of pleading choked with tears,
The call of human hopes and fears,

The Macedonian cry to Paul !

The storm-bell rings, the trumpet blows;

I know the word and countersign ; Wherever Freedom's vanguard goes, Where stand or fall her friends or foes,

I know the place that should be mine.




Shamed be the hands that idly fold,

And lips that woo the reed's accord, When laggard Time the hour has tolled For true with false and new with old

To fight the battles of the Lord !

O brothers ! blest by partial Fate

With power to match the will and deed, To him your summons comes too late Who sinks beneath his armor's weight,

And has no answer but God-speed !

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. WAIT and watch : before my eyes

Methinks the night grows thin and gray ; I wait and watch the eastern skies To see the golden spears uprise

Beneath the oriflamme of day!

Like one whose limbs are bound in trance

I hear the day sounds swell and grow,
And see across the twilight glance,
Troop after troop, in swift advance,

The shining ones with plumes of snow!

I know the errand of their feet,

I know what mighty work is theirs ;

I can but lift up hands unmeet,
The threshing-floors of God to beat,

And speed them with unworthy prayers.

I will not dream in vain despair

The steps of progress wait for me :
The puny leverage of a hair
The planet's impulse well may spare,

A drop of dew the tided sea.

The loss, if loss there be, is mine,

And yet not mine if understood ; For one shall grasp and one resign, One drink life's rue, and one its wine,

And God shall make the balance good.

O power to do! O baffled will!

O prayer and action ! ye are one ; Who may not strive, may yet fulfil The harder task of standing still,

And good but wished with God is done !

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