Page:The Writings of John Green Whittier (v.1).pdf/274

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NARRATIVE AND LEGENDARY POEMS.
That wait to take the places of our own,Heard where some breezy balcony looks downOn happy homes, or where the lake in the moonSleeps dreaming of the mountains, fair as Ruth,In the old Hebrew pastoral, at the feetOf Boaz, even this simple lay of mineMay seem the burden of a prophecy,Finding its late fulfilment in a changeSlow as the oak’s growth, lifting manhood upThrough broader culture, finer manners, love,And reverence, to the level of the hills.
O Golden Age, whose light is of the dawn,And not of sunset, forward, not behind,Flood the new heavens and earth, and with thee bringAll the old virtues, whatsoever thingsAre pure and honest and of good repute,But add thereto whatever bard has sungOr seer has told of when in trance and dreamThey saw the Happy Isles of prophecyLet Justice hold her scale, and Truth divideBetween the right and wrong; but give the heartThe freedom of its fair inheritance;Let the poor prisoner, cramped and starved so long,At Nature’s table feast his ear and eyeWith joy and wonder; let all harmoniesOf sound, form, color, motion, wait uponThe princely guest, whether in soft attireOf leisure clad, or the coarse frock of toil,And, lending life to the dead form of faith,Give human nature reverence for the sake
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