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(Born April 5, 1837)
PROPHET, whose straining eyes | |
| Watch ever eastward while the slow stars fade, | |
| Hast thou beheld the hope-tinged morning rise | |
| Far off on alien seas, in other skies? | |
| Or hast thou from thy sky-bound station made | 5 |
| On lonely peak-tops far away, aloft, | |
| The footsteps heard that oft | |
| Have sounded in thy visions soft | |
| And distant, but as clear | |
| As woodman’s stroke across the dying year? | 10 |
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| For thou through all thy days | |
| Hast been as one for man’s sake set apart, | |
| Beyond the clash of meaner things and ways, | |
| Since first the touch of strong sun-splendid rays | |
| Was laid on singing lips and tender heart. | 15 |
| First of the sons of song, with upturned brow, | |
| Orphean prophet thou, | |
| Tell us what light breaks on thee now; | |
| For in the vale we grope, | |
| Hearing thy words but cheerless of thy hope. | 20 |
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| Singer, whose song’s high flight | |
| Wings steadfast on, serene, from star to star, | |
| Melodious, molten, fledged with golden light | |
| As from a mountain summit glitters bright | |
| When noontide’s stern unclouded glories are, | 25 |
| Hast thy great soul a new more resonant sound, | |
| Fit for this season, found, | |
| That gave us thee while April bound | |
| With passion flowers thy head | |
| And music’s purest effluence round thee shed? | 30 |
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| For thou in all thy singing | |
| Hast been as one in scorn of Time and Change; | |
| Years that make thin the weaker voices, clinging | |
| Like echoes where they once rose clear and ringing, | |
| Thy voice make only still more sweet and strange. | 35 |
| Therefore we pray thee of thy great song’s fire! | |
| Strike from thy golden lyre, | |
| O minstrel of the world’s desire, | |
| Those notes that wake again | |
| Our hearts with preludes of thy mightiest strain. | 40 |
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| Captain, in whose firm hand, | |
| Far forward where the battle trumpets blow, | |
| Has shone for us thy word, a burnished brand, | |
| Drawn without doubt wherever Right makes stand, | |
| Drawn without fear where fires the fiercest glow, | 45 |
| What old oppression whereto cowards kneel, | |
| What tyrant, now shall feel | |
| The swift stroke of thy keen-edged steel? | |
| Before what buttressed shame | |
| Thunder the wrath of thy consuming flame? | 50 |
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| For thou in all these years | |
| That crown thee now as with a crown of flowers, | |
| Hast been too great of heart for any fears, | |
| Dauntless, immovable for aught save tears, | |
| Supernal sign of strength for us and ours. | 55 |
| Therefore, we pray thee, on before and lead! | |
| For never had more need | |
| Of such as thou in word and deed | |
| The world that dark with wrong | |
| Waits for such light as lightens from thy song. | 60 |
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| Master, while at thy feet | |
| Like rose leaves red and yellow and pale | |
| The song leaves flutter, still more fresh and sweet, | |
| Of singers of thy great fame not unmeet | |
| With sound of many voices crying “Hail!” | 65 |
| A quavering voice upon that great throng’s brim, | |
| Unheard and harsh and dim, | |
| Sings to itself a tuneless hymn | |
| In praise of thee—O more | |
| Than cloud and fire across this desert’s floor. | 70 |
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| For thou art life to those | |
| That hear thy spirit, master of tone and tune, | |
| Whose echoes breathe in every wind that blows, | |
| In dawn and sunset, quiet star that glows | |
| At midnight and the stainless depths of noon, | 75 |
| With all sounds glorious, from great ocean’s swell | |
| To drone of murmuring shell | |
| And far-heard chime of evening bell; | |
| As if, O music’s king, | |
| Thy hand then strayed upon the heavenly string. | 80 |
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