The breath of God, a wind from heaven's throne,
Like friendship's sweetness, and like pain's sharp strength,
O Sleep, sweet sleep, come over me.
And waft me to the land of dreams.
Where everywhere flow copious streams
I have not lived in vain, if one of men,
Who trod the earth and breathed the air with me,
Have felt the touch of man's divinity
In that rough barn we knelt, and took and ate
Simply together there the bread divine.
The body of God made flesh, and drank in wine
Not once, but often, Truth has been rewarded
With fiercest hatred, foulest calumny,
While Vice has reigned supreme, by men belauded,
O God, for Truth, or some faint glimpse of Truth,
To smite through mists of night, and pierce the sense,
And drive away the dreary vast offence
— THE old, the bitter, everlasting Why,
That rises ever to the throne of God,
His human creatures' wail. And some have cursed
And if a bullet in the midst of strife
Should still the pulse of this unquiet life
Twere well: be death an everlasting rest,
As one that stands upon the beetling sheer
Of some dread precipice, when midmost night
With whelming dark has hidden from his sight
As one who wanders on a desert plain.
An arid waste of dead sterility,
Then finds a green oasis suddenly.