LAST VICTIMS.
93
To hide from our despair.
One pure white Light is over all,
One Spirit-Pulse serene,
Who when we rise, and when we fall,
Unmoved approves the scene.
For Love is Lord from Heaven to Hell,
Walks our red waves of sorrow;
Love weeps beside us; all is well;
Day will dawn to-morrow.
Love weeps beside us, and within
Love moaneth for our lot;
Behold! his vassals, Death and Sin,
Chained to his chariot!
Love sleeps not, throned indifferent
Upon a lordly scorn;
He is the Man, whose brows are rent
With sorrow's crown of thorn.
God is the God-forsaken Man;
He is the Little Child;
His eyes with human woes are wan;
And all is reconciled!
