The years roll on, and with them roll
The burden of the human soul,
The ache and pain
Of heart and brain,
That hear far off a solemn night-bell toll.
List! ringing clear, another sound
Reverberates the world around.
The rapt Soul listens;
A tear-drop glistens
Down her pale cheek and trickles to the ground:—
A tear of joy, for she hath heard
The promise of the ancient Word
Over the dark
Prevailing: hark!
“All thy hopes, wan Soul, now sere and blurred,
Shall surely yet rebud and bloom;
Discard thy self-spun robe of gloom,
Awake! arise!
More just and wise,
Thy failing lamp with higher life relume.
The prophecy of ages past
Shall be fulfilled at last;—
Lo! man shall rise
With fadeless glory in his eyes,
His knowledge clarified, illumed and vast.
Thou wert of old, thou art, shalt be,
A thing unbound and ever free
To work, and will,—
A throb, a thrill,—
A joyous breath of immortality.”