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| SIRE of the rising day, | |
| Lord of the faded ray, | |
| King of sweet ways of morn or daylight done. | |
| Ruler of cloud and sleep, | |
| Whose tread is on the deep, | 5 |
| Whose feet are red in glory like the sun. | |
| Whose hand binds up the winds as in a sheaf, | |
| Whose shadow makes them tremble like a leaf. | |
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| Lordship and Fear are thine, | |
| Upon whose brow divine | 10 |
| The diadem of pale eternal fire | |
| Burns over eyes that fear | |
| No stain of earthly tear, | |
| Nor soften for a yearning world’s desire. | |
| The treasure of strong thunder at thy hand | 15 |
| Waits like an eagle watching thy command. | |
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| Thee rosy beams enshroud; | |
| Rich airs and amber cloud | |
| Reach the calm golden spaces of thy hall. | |
| The floods awake with noise | 20 |
| Churning the deep, whose voice | |
| Thou heedest not, altho’ the storm-wind call | |
| And break beneath the swollen vapour-bands, | |
| In wild rains wearing at the sodden lands. | |
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| Can then our weak-wing’d prayer | 25 |
| Ascend and touch thee there, | |
| Sailing between the gleaming gates of heaven? | |
| Can our wail climb and smite | |
| Thy council-seat of light? | |
| Where for a garment is the moon-ray given | 30 |
| To clothe thy shoulders, and blue star-dust strown | |
| Bickers about the borders of thy throne. | |
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| Ah, Lord, who may withstand | |
| One reaching of thy hand, | |
| Who from thy fury fence his house secure? | 35 |
| What citadel is there, | |
| In lifted hand or prayer, | |
| If all the radiant heaven may not endure | |
| The scathing of thine anger, keen to blight | |
| The strong stars rolling in their fields of light? | 40 |
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| Arise and take thine ease, | |
| For thou art Lord; and these | |
| Are but as sprinkled dust before thy power. | |
| Art thou the less divine, | |
| If they lift hands and whine, | 45 |
| Or less eternal since they crawl an hour? | |
| After a little pain to fold their hands, | |
| And perish like the beasts that till’d their lands. | |
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| They dug their field and died, | |
| Believed thee or denied; | 50 |
| Cursed at thy name, or fed thy shrine with fume. | |
| Loved somewhat, hated more, | |
| Hoarded, grew stiff and sore, | |
| Gat sturdy sons to labour in their room; | |
| Became as alien faces in their land; | 55 |
| Died, worn and done with as a waste of sand. | |
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| Strong are alone the dead. | |
| They need not bow the head, | |
| Or reach one hand in ineffectual prayer. | |
| Safe in their iron sleep | 60 |
| What wrong shall make them weep, | |
| What sting of human anguish reach them there? | |
| They are gone safe beyond the strong one’s reign, | |
| Who shall decree against them any pain? | |
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| Will they entreat in tears | 65 |
| The inexorable years | |
| To sprinkle trouble gently on their head? | |
| Safe in their house of grass, | |
| Eternity may pass, | |
| And be to these an instant in its tread, | 70 |
| Calm as an autumn night, brief as the song | |
| Of the wood dove. The dead alone are strong. | |
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| Love is not there, nor Hate, | |
| Weak slaves of feebler Fate, | |
| Their lord is nothing here, his reign is done. | 75 |
| Here side by side can lie | |
| Glory and Infamy, | |
| Hero and herdsman in red earth are one. | |
| Their day is over: sad they silence keep, | |
| Abash’d before the perfect crowning sleep. | 80 |
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