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to hope.
Alone in the wide world, alone he stands;
Alone, save where beyond the roaring seas
His mother weeps, and weeps, oh God! through him.
Then, blowing from dead deserts the simoom
Of doubt breathes on him, with its killing breath,
With'ring the flower of faith, the groves of youth,
And buffering his heart on cruel waves
Of wind, e'en like a quiv'ring autumn leaf.
Oh, is it strange?
That in the midnight, on the dark there grow
Pale faces sweating blood, and vwrapped in shrouds,
Turning reproachful eyes upon his eyes,
And asking dumbly, "Wherefore did we die,
And spill the wine-filled goblets of our youth
On barren soil that will not teem with birth?"
That brides, like broken lilies whirled along
By arrowy streams, glide past and sadly sob,
"Thou'st mowed us down, and mowed us down in vain!"
That infants thrill the silence with their wail,
Alone, save where beyond the roaring seas
His mother weeps, and weeps, oh God! through him.
Then, blowing from dead deserts the simoom
Of doubt breathes on him, with its killing breath,
With'ring the flower of faith, the groves of youth,
And buffering his heart on cruel waves
Of wind, e'en like a quiv'ring autumn leaf.
Oh, is it strange?
That in the midnight, on the dark there grow
Pale faces sweating blood, and vwrapped in shrouds,
Turning reproachful eyes upon his eyes,
And asking dumbly, "Wherefore did we die,
And spill the wine-filled goblets of our youth
On barren soil that will not teem with birth?"
That brides, like broken lilies whirled along
By arrowy streams, glide past and sadly sob,
"Thou'st mowed us down, and mowed us down in vain!"
That infants thrill the silence with their wail,
