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| DEAD. The dead year is lying at my feet; | |
| In this strange hour the past and future meet; | |
| There is no present; no land in the vast sea; | |
| Appalled, I stand here in Eternity. | |
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| Darkness upon me. On my soul it weighs; | 5 |
| The gloom, that has crushed out the life of days | |
| That once knew light, has crept into my heart; | |
| I have not strength to bid it thence depart. | |
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| Oh, what is Time? and what is Life, the fire | |
| That thrills my pulses with its large desire? | 10 |
| Since at each step I rend a fragment of my soul, | |
| And growth means dying, whither is the goal? | |
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| The old, old question! yet I do not shrink | |
| From bitter truths; I do not fear to drink | |
| Even to the dregs the cup that tears may fill; | 15 |
| I ’d know God’s truth, though it were human ill. | |
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| I have cast down the idols in my mind | |
| Which sought to comfort me for being blind; | |
| I need no pleasant lie to cheat the night, | |
| I need God’s Truth, that I may walk aright. | 20 |
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| That, and that only! with unflinching eyes | |
| I would tear through the secret of the skies; | |
| Smile on, ye stars; in me there is a might | |
| Which dares to scale your large empyreal height. | |
| |
| Yet—yet—how shall it be? Time sweeps me on, | 25 |
| And what one day I hold, the next is gone; | |
| The very Heavens are changed! the face they wore, | |
| A moment back, is lost to come no more. | |
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| My soul along the restless current drifts, | |
| And to its sight the source of radiance shifts; | 30 |
| Wildly I strive some gleam of truth to save, | |
| And cry, “God help me!” battling with the wave. | |
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| God help me? Well I know the prayer is vain, | |
| Although it rush up to my lips again; | |
| I know His help was given with the Breath | 35 |
| That leads me thus to struggle against death. | |
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| No further help. No help beyond the soul, | |
| The fragment of Himself I hold in my control; | |
| From heaven, no stronger aid to lead me through the fight: | |
| In heaven, no higher aim to bind me to the Right. | 40 |
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| Thus stand I on the brink of this new year, | |
| Darkness upon me—not the work of fear. | |
| Powerless I know to check the river’s sweep, | |
| Powerful alone my own soul’s truth to keep. | |
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