BETHESDA A SEQUEL I saw again the spirits on a day, Where on the earth in mournful case they lay; Should of their torment straightway be released. So with shrunk bodies and with heads down. dropt, Stretched on the steps, and at the pillars propt, Watching by day and listening through the night, They filled the place, a miserable sight. And I beheld that on the stony floor He too, that spoke of duty once before, 20 "I know not, I will do what is it I would say? What was that word which once sufficed for all, Which now I seek in vain, and never can recall?" And then, as weary of in vain renewing His question, thus his mournful thought pursuing, "I know not, I must do as other men are doing." But what the waters of that pool might be, HOPE EVERMORE AND BELIEVE 30 Hope evermore and believe, O man, for e'en as thy thought So are the things that thou see'st; e'en as thy hope and belief. Cowardly art thou and timid? they rise to provoke thee against them; Hast thou courage? enough, see them exulting to yield. Yea, the rough rock, the dull earth, the wild sea's furying waters Who prop, thou ask'st, in these bad days, my mind? Taught Arrian, when Vespasian's brutal son Clear'd Rome of what most sham'd him. But be his My special thanks, whose even-balanc'd soul, Wherein we lie asleep, Heavy as death, cold as the grave; When the Soul, growing clearer, When the Soul, mounting higher, Foiling her high emprize, And, when she fain would soar, Of her own eloquence: Strong to deceive, strong to enslave Save, oh save. From the ingrain'd fashion From grief, that is but passion; From mirth, that is but feigning; From tears, that bring no healing; From wild and weak complaining; Thine old strength revealing, Save, oh save. From doubt, where all is double: Where sweet things soonest cloy: Hungry, and barren, and sharp as the sea; O let the false dream fly O where thy voice doth come ΤΟ 20 30 40 50 In the caverns where we lay, Through the surf and through the swell The far-off sound of a silver bell? When did music come this way? 40 45 But we stood without in the cold blowing airs. We climb'd on the graves, on the stones, worn with rains, And we gaz'd up the aisle through the small leaded panes. 80 She sat by the pillar; we saw her clear: "Margaret, hist! come quick, we are here. Dear heart," I said, "we are long alone. The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan." But, ah, she gave me never a look, For her eyes were seal'd to the holy book. Loud prays the priest; shut stands the door. Come away, children, call no more. Come away, come down, call no more. Down, down, down. Down to the depths of the sea. She sits at her wheel in the humming town, Hark, what she sings; "O joy, O joy, For the humming street, and the child with its toy. |