Page:Poems Davidson.djvu/195

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O THAT THE EAGLE'S WING WERE MINE!
139
And what are all the joys of life,
But vanity, and toil, and woe?
What but a bitter cup of grief,
With dregs of sin and death below?

This world is but the first dark gate
Unfolded to the waking soul;
But Death unerring, led by Fate,
Shall heaven's bright portals backward roll

Then shall this unchained spirit fly
On to the God who gave it life;
Rejoicing as it soars on high,
Released from danger, doubt, and strife.

There will it pour its anthems forth,
Bending before its Maker's throne,—
The great I Am, who gave it birth,
The Almighty God, the dread Unknown.