THE DEAD CENTURY
I.
Lo! we come
Bearing the Century, cold and dumb!
Folded above the mighty breast
Lie the hands that have earned their rest;
Hushed are the grandly speaking lips;
Closed are the eyes in drear eclipse;
And the sculptured limbs are deathly still,
Responding not to the eager will,
As we come
Bearing the Century, cold and dumb!
Bearing the Century, cold and dumb!
Folded above the mighty breast
Lie the hands that have earned their rest;
Hushed are the grandly speaking lips;
Closed are the eyes in drear eclipse;
And the sculptured limbs are deathly still,
Responding not to the eager will,
As we come
Bearing the Century, cold and dumb!
II.
Lo! we wait
Knocking here at the sepulchre's gate!
Souls of the ages passed away,
A mightier joins your ranks to-day;
Open your doors and give him room,
Buried Centuries, in your tomb!
For calmly under this heavy pall
Sleepeth the kingliest of ye all,
While we wait
At the sepulchre's awful gate!
Knocking here at the sepulchre's gate!
Souls of the ages passed away,
A mightier joins your ranks to-day;
Open your doors and give him room,
Buried Centuries, in your tomb!
For calmly under this heavy pall
Sleepeth the kingliest of ye all,
While we wait
At the sepulchre's awful gate!
