Poems (Henderson)/A Dream of life
A DREAM OF LIFE.
I had a dream of Life's great glory; And, marshalled in a phalanx deep,Heroes, and statesmen, great in story, I viewed, held by the Goddess Sleep;Methought, great bard, and painter lent, Their glorious presence to the throng;And one, who charmed with music only, Did wake my dull ear with his song.
And circled with the wreath of glory, Bright laurels stained with human gore,The soldier's brow, blood-red before me, One moment gleamed, there past forever moreAnd one, the statesman, he who lifted, High in the face of Heaven the cry,For human Right, and glorious Honor, Who crowned our land with Liberty:
Stood towering high, in noble grandeur, His great brow lit with Heaven's own fire,Till neath the crumbling dust of ages, He fell, 'neath Time's great funeral pyre.
And he, the bard, whose starry splendor, Charmed lone hearts, into life anew,Who filled with passion, pure and holy, Each soul, and made Love's promise true.Stood, holding in his snowy hand, The harp of his entrancing power,Then vanished into the dim forever, And Earth, and Fame knew him no more.
And one whose gift of fadeless beauty, Lit the dull canvas with the glow,Of inspiration, great and noble, Who "mirrored Heaven in a face below,"Stood, crowned with glorious bays before me, Fame's mightly seal upon his brow,Till down the labyrinth of the ages; He passed 'neath Life's dull sunset glow.
And last, with strains of music flowing, 'Round him, like balmy breezes blown,Whose touch could wake the world to glory, O'er harp, or lute-string thrown,Stood he, the minstrel's fond ideal, Who homage held, of queen and king,A fading vision, dimly shadowed, His brow, and broke the trembling string.
Then cried I, in deep voice of sorrow, Have all Earth's great and holy passed away,What hope holds forth the dim to morrow, To strive along the toilsome way, For beauty, glory, fame and genius, All perish in one fleeting gleam,And what are earth's most priceless jewels, That men their worth should e'er esteem.
Then, thought I, through that world of sleep, I heard the voice of an angel cry,Bring forth the Book, whose fadeless pages, Have ne'er been scanned by mortal eye.And there upon its spotless record, Inscribed in letters of pure gold,Lay chronicled, through untold ages, Each deed, heroic, true or bold,Earth's heroes e'er, had cherished, Each kind word spoken to the weak,Each fervent prayer, for erring manhood, Each loving word, Earth's children speak.
Then spake a Voice, through the sleep-world ringing, I, Sovereign of the Earth and sky, Permit no noble deed to perish, No great and holy life to die.Oblivion cannot claim the glory, Of human life, great and divine,And in Eternity's great record, I keep these jewels of mine.