98
THE DEAD CENTURY
III.
Yet—pause here,
Bending low o'er the narrow bier!
Pause ye awhile and let your thought
Compass the work that he hath wrought;
Look on his brow so scarred and worn;
Think of the weight his hands have borne;
Think of the fetters he hath broken,
Of the mighty words his lips have spoken
Who lies here
Dead and cold on a narrow bier!
Bending low o'er the narrow bier!
Pause ye awhile and let your thought
Compass the work that he hath wrought;
Look on his brow so scarred and worn;
Think of the weight his hands have borne;
Think of the fetters he hath broken,
Of the mighty words his lips have spoken
Who lies here
Dead and cold on a narrow bier!
IV.
Ere he goes
Silent and calm to his grand repose—
While the Centuries in their tomb
Crowd together to give him room,
Let us think of the wondrous deeds'
Answering still to the world's great needs,
Answering still to the world's wild prayer,
He hath been first to do and dare!
Ah! he goes
Crowned with bays to his last repose.
Silent and calm to his grand repose—
While the Centuries in their tomb
Crowd together to give him room,
Let us think of the wondrous deeds'
Answering still to the world's great needs,
Answering still to the world's wild prayer,
He hath been first to do and dare!
Ah! he goes
Crowned with bays to his last repose.
V.
When the earth
Sang for joy to hail his birth,
Over the hill-tops, faint and far,
Glimmered the light of Freedom's star,
Only a poor, pale torch it seemed—
Dimly from out the clouds it gleamed—
Sang for joy to hail his birth,
Over the hill-tops, faint and far,
Glimmered the light of Freedom's star,
Only a poor, pale torch it seemed—
Dimly from out the clouds it gleamed—
