154
canticle de profundis.
That calls men off to butchery like cattle,
Soul after soul,—
Under the horrid sound of chaos seething
In blind, hot strife,
We feel the moving of Thy Spirit, breathing
A better life
Into the air of our long-sickened nation;
A muffled hymn;—
The star-sung prelude of a new creation;—
Suffusions dim,—
The bursting upward of a stifled glory,
That shall arise
To light new pages in the world's great story
For happier eyes.
Soul after soul,—
Under the horrid sound of chaos seething
In blind, hot strife,
We feel the moving of Thy Spirit, breathing
A better life
Into the air of our long-sickened nation;
A muffled hymn;—
The star-sung prelude of a new creation;—
Suffusions dim,—
The bursting upward of a stifled glory,
That shall arise
To light new pages in the world's great story
For happier eyes.
If upon lips too close to dead lips leaning,
Songs be not found,
Yet wilt Thou know our life's unuttered meaning
In its deep ground,
As seeds in earth, sleep sorrow-drenched praises,
Waiting to bring
Incense to Thee along thought's barren mazes
When Thou send'st spring.
Songs be not found,
Yet wilt Thou know our life's unuttered meaning
In its deep ground,
As seeds in earth, sleep sorrow-drenched praises,
Waiting to bring
Incense to Thee along thought's barren mazes
When Thou send'st spring.
