OPPORTUNITY.
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Decking her icy brow and heavy pall;
While we, mute, helpless, with prophetic black
Have wrapped ourselves, and in thy narrow track
Come, hand in hand, blindfolded, fettered all,
Waiting the hour when, in thy death's last thrall
Bidding us follow thee, thou shalt look back.
While we, mute, helpless, with prophetic black
Have wrapped ourselves, and in thy narrow track
Come, hand in hand, blindfolded, fettered all,
Waiting the hour when, in thy death's last thrall
Bidding us follow thee, thou shalt look back.
OPPORTUNITY.
DO not know if, climbing some steep hill,Through fragrant wooded pass, this glimpse I bought,
Or whether in some mid-day I was caught
To upper air, where visions of God's will
In pictures to our quickened sense fulfil
His word. But this I saw.
A path I sought
Through wall of rock. No human fingers wrought
The golden gates which opened sudden, still,
And wide. My fear was hushed by my delight.
Surpassing fair the lands; my path lay plain;
Alas, so spell-bound, feasting on the sight,
I paused, that I but reached the threshold bright,
When, swinging swift, the golden gates again
Were rocky wall, by which I wept in vain.
