POETRY.
A CRY OF DESIRE.
YET one lay to the love, long, deep, and sweet, That heartens, as it hears, Before the worn tones falter, for my feet Are in the vale of years.
And the night cometh, in whose realm of ice (So the sad Hebrew said) Is found no kindly labour, no device Of warm heart, pondering head.
I would to God I had your faith firm-set, That seems almost to know It is but just a moment to forget, Then wake, the boundless glow Of a new daybreak in new heavens to see, O'er a new earth outroll ; And feel a flash of continuity Comfort the personal soul.
The beauty, wonder, freshness, youth, and might Of the still world, the sea, Lyrics of dawn, the splendours of the night, The breath of mountains free : The music of the river as it glides Gleaming thro' meadowy lands, The virgin passion that enchants and guides, The charm of children's bands.
Shadows these are, perchance, pale shadows cold, If glimmeringly fair, Mists that shall melt to morns of burning gold, Surely, sometime, somewhere And every sweet deep fleeting mortal thing Heighten'd and endless be P Ah ! then the clouded grave would have no sting, Death would mean victory I JOSEPH TRUMAN.
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