Pray, pray, thou who also weepest, And the drops will slacken so. Weep, weep, and the watch thou keepest With a quicker count will go. Think: the shadow on the dial For the nature most undone, Marks the passing of the trial, Proves the presence of the sun. Look, look up, in starry passion, To the throne above the spheres: Learn: the spirit's gravitation Still must differ from the tear's. Hope: with all the strength thou usest In embracing thy despair. Love: the earthly love thou losest Shall return to thee more fair. Work: make clear the forest-tangles Of the wildest stranger-land Trust: the blessèd deathly angels Whisper, "Sabbath hours at hand!" By the heart's wound when most gory, By the longest agony, Smile! Behold in sudden glory The TRANSFIGURED smiles on _thee_! And ye lifted up your head, and it seemed as if He said, "My Belovèd, is it so? Have ye tasted of my woe? Of my Heaven ye shall not fail!" He stands brightly where the shade is, With the keys of Death and Hades, And there, ends the mournful tale-- So hopefully ye think upon the Dead! _NIGHT AND THE MERRY MAN._ NIGHT. 'Neath my moon what doest thou, With a somewhat paler brow Than she giveth to the ocean? He, without a pulse or motion, Muttering low before her stands, Lifting his invoking hands Like a seer before a sprite, To catch her oracles of light: But thy soul out-trembles now Many pulses on thy brow. Where be all thy laughters clear, Others laughed alone to hear? Where thy quaint jests, said for fame? Where thy dances, mixed with game? Where thy festive companies, Moonèd o'er with ladies' eyes All more bright for thee, I trow? 'Neath my moon what doest thou? THE MERRY MAN. I am digging my warm heart Till I find its coldest part; I am digging wide and low, Further than a spade will go, Till that, when the pit is deep And large enough, I there may heap All my present pain and past Joy, dead things that look aghast By the daylight: now 't is done. Throw them in, by one and one! I must laugh, at rising sun. * * * * *