Page:The college beautiful, and other poems.djvu/81

Then while the morning still is fair,
The earth-winds o'er thee play,
Speed on the Master's work, and bear
The burden of thy day.

Ay, welcome each new toil and pain,
The fiery angels sent
To teach our harps their golden strain,
While yet in banishment;

Lest e'en for thee, whose steps may roam
Far in some tangled glade,
When all the sons of God flock home,
The feast should be delayed.

For, oh! too long, too long we fare
Without our Father's gate.
"Thy kingdom come!" is all our prayer,
And still it cometh late.

Not wrath, dear Lord, thy mercy seals.
Our own unrighteous hands
Hold back thy shining chariot-wheels,
And rob the wistful lands.

For none shall walk in perfect white
Till every soul be clean
So close for sorrow and delight
These human spirits lean.