Page:Scenes and Hymns of Life.pdf/66

Shall they shower blessing, with their beams divine,
Down to the watcher on the stormy sea,
And to the pilgrim toiling for his shrine
Through some wild pass of rocky Appennine,

And to the wanderer lone
On wastes of Afric thrown,
    And not to me?
Am I a thing forsaken,
And is the gladness taken

From the bright-pinioned nature which hath soar'd

Through realms by royal eagle ne'er explor'd,
And, bathing there in streams of fiery light,
Found strength to gaze upon the Infinite?

And now an alien!—Wherefore must this be?

How shall I rend the chain?
How drink rich life again

From those pure urns of radiance, welling free?

Father of Spirits! let me turn to thee!