Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Those Eternal Bowers

Those Eternal Bowers.

Those eternal bowers Man hath never trod,Those unfading flowers Round the throne of God:Who may hope to gain them After weary fight?Who at length attain them, Clad in robes of white?

He who gladly barters All on earthly ground;He who, like the martyrs, Says, "I will be crowned:"He whose one oblation Is a life of love,Clinging to the nation Of the blest above.

Shame upon you, legions Of the heavenly King,Denizens of regions Past imagining!What! with pipe and tabor Pool away the light?When He bids you labour— When He tells you, "Fight!"

While we do our duty, Struggling through the tide.Whisper Thou of beauty On the other side!Oh, heed not the story Of this life's distress:Oh, the future glory! Oh, the loveliness!