BRONZE
MOODS
My heart is pregnant with a great despairWith much beholding of my people's care,'Mid blinded prejudice and nurtured wrong,Exhaling wantonly the days along:I mark Faith's fragile craft of cheering lightTossing imperiled on the sea of night,And then, enanguished, comes my heart's low cry,"God, God! I crave to learn the reason why!"Again, in spirit loftily I soarWith wingèd vision through earth's outer door,In such an hour, it is mine to see,In frowning fortune smiling destiny!
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