O PATIENT-EYED and tender saint, Too far from thee I stand, With vain desires perplexed and faint; Reach out thy helping hand. No fire is on the holy hill, No voice on Sinai now; But, in our gloom and darkness still Abiding, help me thou. They move on whom thy light is shed Through lives of larger scope; For them beneath the false and dead There stirs a quickening hope. So on some gusty morn we mark The reddening tops of trees, And hear in carols of the lark Thespesian promises. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 100 by OMAR KHAYYAM TO THE UNKNOWN EROS: BOOK 1: 3. WINTER by COVENTRY KERSEY DIGHTON PATMORE THE HAYLOFT by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON PROMETHEUS UNBOUND: THE RED SEA by AESCHYLUS |