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356 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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I heard a sound of singing
Across the eventide. What sight my soul bewilders
Beneath the sunset's glow ? The fane that the dreaming builders
Were building long ago !
'Tis not the sculptured portal,
Or windows jeweled wide, With joy of the life immortal,
And woes of him who died, That fill my soul with wonder,
And drain my heart of tears, ' And ask with voice of thunder,
Where are thy wasted years !
But a thousand thousand creatures
Kneel down where grew the sod, And hear with glowing features
The words that breathe of God. Alone and empty-handed,
1 wait by the open door: Such work hath the Lord commended,
And I can work—no more !
The builders never heeding
They lie and take their rest, And hands no longer bleeding
Are folded on each breast — The grass waves o'er them sleeping,
And flowerets red and white Where I kneel above them weeping,
And whisper, " You were right." |
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