Poet Voices passing.
O we live, O we live—
And this life that we conceive
Is a noble thing and high,
Which we climb up loftily
To view God without a stain;
Till, recoiling where the shade is,
We retread our steps again,
And descend the gloomy Hades
To resume man's mortal pain.
Shall it be climbed in vain?
Infant Voices passing.
Rock us softly,
Lest it be all in vain.
Love Voices passing.
O we live, O we live—
And this life we would retrieve,
Is a faithful thing apart
Which we love in, heart to heart,
Until one heart fitteth twain.
"Wilt thou be one with me?"
"I will be one with thee."
"Ha, ha!—we love and live!"
Alas! ye love and die.
Shriek—who shall reply?
For is it not loved in vain?
Infant Voices passing.
Rock us softly,
Though it be all in vain.
Aged Voices passing.
O we live, O we live—
And this life we would survive,
Is a gloomy thing and brief,
Which, consummated in grief,
Leaveth ashes for all gain.
Is it not all in vain?
Infant Voices passing.
Rock us softly,
Though it be all in vain.
[Voices die away.
Earth Spirits. And bringer of the curse upon all these.
Eve. The voices of foreshown Humanity
Die off;—so let me die.