And now, as from some mountain-height,
Backward I strain my eager sight,
Till all the landscape melts in night;—
Then, whispering to my Heart, "Be bold!"
I turn from years whose "tale is told,"
To greet the Future's dawn of gold:
High hopes and nobler labors wait
Beyond that Future's opening gate,—
Brave deeds which hold the seeds of Fate.
Thy strength, O Lord, shall fire my blood,
Shall nerve my soul, make wise my mood,
And win me to the pure and good!
Or if, O Father, thou shouldst say,
"Dark Angel, close his mortal day!"
And smite me on my vanward way,—
Grant that in armor firm and strong,
Whilst pealing still Life's battle-song,
And struggling, manful, 'gainst the wrong,
Thy soldier, who would fight to win
No crown of dross, no bays of sin,
May fall amidst the foremost din
Of Truth's grand conflict, blest by Thee,—
And even though Death should conquer, see
How false, how brief his victory!
* * * * *