THE TRYST OF NATIONS.
Tremendous dawn! that turns its back upon a fumbling
past, and then, in radiant ecstasy, sweeps up the heavens,
down the spaces of the wind, revealing, healing, seeking
out the darkest places of the world.
Night, still crimsoned by the blood of sacrifice, has sung its
Sorrow-Song; we must forget, and pray for those who
day by day must grow more intimate with pain, or some
unspoken loneliness.
O Dawn of Love’s completion, though earth still trembles