THE BRIDGE OF FIRE
VI
The astral light grows dim upon the dales,
As he who loved the sinner and the child,
Before whose beauty still the tyrant quails
Comes by alone, a quiet man and mild.
The voice of all reproach is fixed and fails;
The heart is willing to be reconciled.
Was it his work, the groaning in the jails?
When bodies writhed and wept, could he have smiled?
Be strong, undaunted soul,
To break the aureole:
Release our chain, but leave him unreviled.
Though sweet the lily blows
The fire upon the rose
Alone shall guide thee on the bitter wild,
At last to find no Lotus land,
But one where Truth may touch thee dying with sweet hand.
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