If from beneath alone we gaze, Thy providence a darkened maze. Rise on wings of faith and prayer, And then what love and wisdom there! So brightness of unbroken day Upon those clouds doth heavenward lay Though we can trace no single ray, Who look from earth. Yet angels see The glory as a silver sea.
Dread hour! nearing, nearing fast. Yet I cannot wish thee past. Death! Oh! but a dream till nigh, With night cold from eternity.
That cold night doth around me creep In which immortals never sleep.
The cloud its mighty shade doth fling, Like a mantle for a king, On the mountain's awful form, Scarred through battles with the storm.
So thy darkness falls on me, Darkness, such as cannot be, But to those whose soul is life, To a nation in its strife, That its wrongs for ever crushed, The cries of slaves forever hushed, And every chain forever gone, Man tremble before God alone; That man's true right, so long betrayed, On truth and justice shall be laid; That Freedom's martyr's work begun In blood, and fire, and hidden sun, Shall culminate in triumphs won; And the world's changing channels trace A course of hope for all our race.
Oh! how they as the humblest die, Who part from kingly majesty To stand before Him!--nothing there But as His image we may bear; The image by the humblest borne; The kings of the eternal morn.
The lowliest man, most void of power, To stand the trial of that hour! To come from life in quiet shade, From humble duties well obeyed.
Ah! if this be a solemn thing, What then for one in might a king! To meet the trial of that day From gorgeous wrongs in false array, Where false praise gilds the every deed, Where few warn one that will not heed; The man whom Weird-like hands have shown The weary pathway to the throne.
Oh! thou gory-crowned head Haunting here my dying bed! Was it not necessity? Moulding deed that was to be! Oh! king so false--away--away-- Leave me at least my dying day.
Is there no refuge? Hated face! Come with the looks of thy cold race. Look thou as when thy soiled hand gave The Earl, thy vassal to the grave. Gaze thou on me in that worst pride As kingly honor was defied. Look thus on me--but not as now, That patient sorrow on thy brow.
I can but gaze. Forever near Thy dreaded form is my one fear.