PAST AND PRESENT
111
And our hearts to-day proclaim thee,
As they oft have done before,
Fit to lead the glorious legions
Of the glorious days of yore!
Yet still, we pray thee, veil awhile
Thy splendor from our dazzled eyes
And hide the glory of thy smile,
Lest our souls wake to new surprise!
Bear with us while our feet to-day
Retrace a dim and shadowy way,
In search of what, it well may be,
Shall help to make us worthier thee!
As they oft have done before,
Fit to lead the glorious legions
Of the glorious days of yore!
Yet still, we pray thee, veil awhile
Thy splendor from our dazzled eyes
And hide the glory of thy smile,
Lest our souls wake to new surprise!
Bear with us while our feet to-day
Retrace a dim and shadowy way,
In search of what, it well may be,
Shall help to make us worthier thee!
·······
And now, O, spirit of the Past, draw near,
And let us feel thy blessed presence here!
With reverent hearts and voices hushed and low,
We wait to hear thy garments' rustling flow!
From all the conflicts of our busy life,
From all its bitter and enduring strife,
Its eager yearnings and its wild turmoil,
Its cares, its joys, its sorrows and its toil,
Its aspirations, that too often seem
Like the remembered phantoms of a dream,
We turn aside. This hour is thine alone,
And none shall share the grandeur of thy throne.
Ah! thou art here! Beneath these whispering trees
Thy breath floats softly on the passing breeze;
We feel the presence that we cannot see,
And every moment draws us nearer thee.
Could we but see thee with thy solemn eyes,
In whose rare depths such wondrous meaning lies—
Thy dark robes sweeping this enchanted ground—
Thy midnight hair with purple pansies crowned—
And let us feel thy blessed presence here!
With reverent hearts and voices hushed and low,
We wait to hear thy garments' rustling flow!
From all the conflicts of our busy life,
From all its bitter and enduring strife,
Its eager yearnings and its wild turmoil,
Its cares, its joys, its sorrows and its toil,
Its aspirations, that too often seem
Like the remembered phantoms of a dream,
We turn aside. This hour is thine alone,
And none shall share the grandeur of thy throne.
Ah! thou art here! Beneath these whispering trees
Thy breath floats softly on the passing breeze;
We feel the presence that we cannot see,
And every moment draws us nearer thee.
Could we but see thee with thy solemn eyes,
In whose rare depths such wondrous meaning lies—
Thy dark robes sweeping this enchanted ground—
Thy midnight hair with purple pansies crowned—