Eighteen Hundred and Sixty-Four

I hear no footfall beating through the dark,     A lonely gust is loitering at the pane;     There is no sound within these forests stark     Beyond a splash or two of sullen rain;     But you are with us! and our patient land     Is filled with long-expected change at last,     Though we have scarce the heart to lift a hand     Of welcome, after all the yearning past!     Ah! marvel not; the days and nights were long     And cold and dull and dashed with many tears;     And lately there hath been a doleful song,     Of Mene, Mene, in our restless ears!     Indeed, weve said, The royal son of Time,     Whose feet will shortly cross our threshold floor,     May lead us to those outer heights sublime     Our Sires have sold their lives to see before!     Well follow him! Beyond the waves and wrecks     Of years fulfilled, some fine results must lie;     Well pass the last of all wild things that vex     The pale, sad face of our Humanity!     But now our fainting feet are loth to stray     From trodden paths; our eyes with pain are blind!     Weve lost fair treasures by the weary way;     We cry, like children, to be left behind.     Our human speech is dim. Yet, latest born     Of Gods Eternity, there came to me,     In saddened streets last week, from lips forlorn     A sound more solemn than the sleepless sea!     O, Rachael! Rachael! We have heard the cries     In Rama, stranger, oer our darling dead;     And seen our mothers with the heavy eyes,     Who would not hearken to be comforted!     Then lead us gently! It must come to pass     That some of us shall halt and faint and fall;     For we are looking through a darkened glass,     And Heaven seems far, and faith grows cold and pale.     I know, for one, I need a subtle strength     I have not yet to hold me from a fall;     What time I cry to God within the length     Of weary hours; my face against the wall!     My mourning brothers! in the long, still nights,     When sleep is wilful, and the lone moon shines,     Bethink you of the silent, silver lights,     And darks with Death amongst the moody pines!     Then, though you cannot shut a stricken face     Away from you, this hope will come about     That Christ hath sent again throughout the place     Some signs of Love to worst and weaken doubt.     So you may find in every afterthought     A peace beyond your best expression dear;     And haply hearken to the Voice which wrought     Such strength in Peter on the seas of fear!