Countless silent centuries passed in fashioning good that doth appear, Shall we weary and grow hopeless, waiting for the Golden Year? * * * * * Thy kingdom come, in which Thy will is done, From myriad souls rises the yearning cry; Scatter palm-boughs--behold, a brighter sun Shall dawn in splendor, in a clearer sky; Upon the distant hills a glow we see, That tells us of the Time that is to be. The desert then shall blossom like the rose, The almond flourish on the rocky slopes; Wisdom and beauty in rare union close, Making earth beautiful beyond our hopes. High in the dusky east a star we see, A herald of the Time that is to be. The free-born soul shall not be captive then, Bound by decaying cords of narrow creeds, God's image shall more clearly shine in men, Divinely shaped by holy aims and deeds. Gleam, golden star, oh gleam o'er earth and sea, A herald of the Time that is to be. Fetters are broken, so the fern-leaves fall, A richer growth is budding, wondrous fair, The flower of liberty shall bloom for all, And all shall breathe the healing of the air; The blessed air that wraps a people free, Within that glorious Time that is to be. For what is slavery but woe and crime, And freedom is but liberty from these; Oh perfect hours, ye come, fair and sublime, Bearing the sweet form of the baby, Peace, Shine, golden star, oh shine o'er earth and sea, A herald of the Time that is to be. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Marietta Holley