It is a wondrous thing that thou and I
On a new world are gazing, on the verge
Of that vast ocean of eternity
Whose hymn the prophets heard, whose rhythmic surge
Fore-sounded through the centuries, and doth urge
The doom of the oppressor: thus we gaze
As when from Pisgah's height, upon the marge
Of Palestine, athwart the encircling haze
Of yore one looked, and longed in wonder and amaze.
Like as an eagle, as the tale is told,
Renews its youth upon the mountain's crest,
Bathing in amber light of liquid gold,
And gazing on the sun with fearless quest,
So doth the world with all her sins confessed,
Her myriad sins, her wars, her woes, her sighs—
She that has given her bravest and her best—
Pass through the flame, renew her life, and rise
From out her own dead self into the radiant skies.
The world outworn and all we loved of yore
Is passed and gone, and never can return;
Just as the dead night-watch returns no more,
Though we remain with fevered eyes that burn
The loss of our beloved brave to mourn.
But we have learned the parting is not long,—
'Tis seeming more than sooth; aside is drawn
The veil dividing, and their triumph song
Gladdens our sorrowing hearts, and bids the weak be strong.
