In thy death-struggle, if this deathless Soul
Holds its own destiny and recompense
In the grand mast'ry of a God's control!
"No sound, no sign from thee?
And must I live, not knowing why I live,
Whilst Thou and years to come pass by me here
With faces hid, refusing still to give
The one poor word that bids me cease to fear?
"That word, I charge thee, speak!
Quick! for the moments tremble on the verge