THE VOICE OF THE AGES.
The years roll on, and with them roll The burden of the human soul, The ache and pain Of heart and brain, That hear far off a solemn night-bell toll.
List! ringing clear, another sound Reverberates the world around. The rapt Soul listens; A tear-drop glistens Down her pale cheek and trickles to the ground:—
A tear of joy, for she hath heard The promise of the ancient Word Over the dark Prevailing: hark! “All thy hopes, wan Soul, now sere and blurred,
Shall surely yet rebud and bloom; Discard thy self-spun robe of gloom, Awake! arise! More just and wise, Thy failing lamp with higher life relume.
The prophecy of ages past Shall be fulfilled at last;— Lo! man shall rise With fadeless glory in his eyes, His knowledge clarified, illumed and vast.
Thou wert of old, thou art, shalt be, A thing unbound and ever free To work, and will,— A throb, a thrill,— A joyous breath of immortality.”