Gerald Massey Poems

There lives a voice within me, a guest-angel of my heart,
And its sweet lispings win me, till the tears a-trembling start;
Up evermore it springeth, like some magic melody,
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AT the Last Day while all the rest
Are soundly sleeping underground,
He will be up clean-shaved and dressed
An hour before the Trumpets sound.
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FATHER in Heaven, we seek Thy face
When darkness is our dwelling-place.
Our foolish hearts, that daily roam,
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THERE is no gleam of glory gone,
For those who read in Nature's Book;
No lack of triumph in their look
Who stand in Her Eternal Dawn.
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THE stream of Life that brimmed its banks of old,
We drain to gather Wisdom's grains of gold;
And often as we count the riches o'er,
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SURROUNDED by unnumbered Foes,
Against my soul the battle goes!
Yet though I weary, sore-distressed,
I know that I shall reach my Rest:
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YOU perfect, pure, original,
Writ in a tongue unknown to all;
Translated, in some other sphere,
You may be read; but will not here.
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THEY pity Pegasus because
The Matrimonial Car he draws
Along the ruts of life:
And hot and dusty is the road,
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THE Delian diver wrecked her life to grasp
A pearl she saw by Visionary gleams,
And died with empty hand that could not clasp
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WHO would not wish the Dead were near,
If we can dry the mourners' tear?
Who would not pray the Dead may sleep,
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