The Poet His home is in the heights: to him He presses on before the race, The Poet But when the race comes toiling on O men of earth, that wandering voice Still goes the upward way: rejoice! The Whirlwind Road The Muses wrapped in mysteries of light Yet they went swiftening on the ways untrod, I felt faint touches of the Final Truth- The Desire of Nations And the government shall be upon His shoulder: and His name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.-Isaiah. Earth will go back to her lost youth, And life grow deep and wonderful as truth, When the wise King out of the nearing Heaven comes To break the spell of long millenniums— The broken hope of men To hush and heroize the world, Beneath the flag of Brotherhood unfurled. And He will come some day : Already is His star upon the way! He comes, O world, He comes! But not with bugle-cry nor roll of doubling drums. Nay, for He comes to loosen and unbind, The Desire of Nations To stir the heart's deep chord. No rude horns parleying, no shock of shields; Nor as of old when first the Strong One trod, The Power of sepulchers—our Risen God! When on that deathless morning in the dark, He quit the Garden of the Sepulcher, Setting the oleander boughs astir, And pausing at the gate with backward hark. Nay, nor as when the Hero-King of Heaven Came with upbraiding to His faint Eleven, And found the world-way to His bright feet barred, And hopeless then because men's hearts were hard. |