For thine are all of us, and ours Thou; till the seasons bring to birth A perfect people, and all the powers Be with them that bear fruit on earth; Till the inner heart of man be one With freedom, and the sovereign sun; And Time, in likeness of a guide, Lead the Republic as a bride Up to God’s side.
O HEART of hearts, the chalice of love’s fire, Hid round with flowers and all the bounty of bloom; O wonderful and perfect heart, for whom The lyrist liberty made life a lyre; O heavenly heart, at whose most dear desire Dead love, living and singing, cleft his tomb, And with him risen and regent in death’s room All day thy choral pulses rang full choir; O heart whose beating blood was running song, O sole thing sweeter than thine own songs were, Help us for thy free love’s sake to be free, True for thy truth’s sake, for thy strength’s sake strong, Till very liberty make clean and fair The nursing earth as the sepulchral sea.
IS thine hour come to wake, O slumbering Night? Hath not the Dawn a message in thine ear? Though thou be stone and sleep, yet shalt thou hear When the word falls from heaven—Let there be light. Thou knowest we would not do thee the despite To wake thee while the old sorrow and shame were near; We spake not loud for thy sake, and for fear Lest thou shouldst lose the rest that was thy right, The blessing given thee that was thine alone, The happiness to sleep and to be stone: Nay, we kept silence of thee for thy sake Albeit we knew thee alive, and left with thee The great good gift to feel not nor to see; But will not yet thine Angel bid thee wake?
IT is an hour before the hour of dawn. Set in mine hand my staff and leave me here Outside the hollow house that blind men fear, More blind than I who live on life withdrawn And feel on eyes that see not but foresee The shadow of death which clothes Antigone.
Here lay her living body that here lies Dead, if man living know what thing is death, If life be all made up of blood and breath, And no sense be save as of ears and eyes. But heart there is not, tongue there is not found, To think or sing what verge hath life or bound.
In the beginning when the powers that made The young child man a little loved him, seeing His joy of life and fair face of his being, And bland and laughing with the man-child played, As friends they saw on our divine one day King Cadmus take to queen Harmonia.