160
night.
XIV.
Alas! and yesternight I woke in terror,
Crying, Great God, what awful shadows press
Around us from this dreary nothingness
Of death, and life's old, caverned glooms of error!
Are we immortal, Father, are we dearer
To thee than common dust? "Thou art but one
Of this dense throng, through time still hast'ning on;
Thy blood with theirs is warm," my good Familiar
Said softly unto me,—"how canst thou slake
Thy thirst when their lips parch, or rightly see
With twilight misting round thee? Dearest, wake!
Thy brethren are not saved except in thee;
Nor thou, save in their health, their joy, their sight,
Hast any lasting peace, or heavenly light."
Crying, Great God, what awful shadows press
Around us from this dreary nothingness
Of death, and life's old, caverned glooms of error!
Are we immortal, Father, are we dearer
To thee than common dust? "Thou art but one
Of this dense throng, through time still hast'ning on;
Thy blood with theirs is warm," my good Familiar
Said softly unto me,—"how canst thou slake
Thy thirst when their lips parch, or rightly see
With twilight misting round thee? Dearest, wake!
Thy brethren are not saved except in thee;
Nor thou, save in their health, their joy, their sight,
Hast any lasting peace, or heavenly light."
