YON pilgrim see, in vestments gray, Whose bleeding feet bedew his way, O'er arid sands, with want opprest, Who, toiling, knows no place of rest: Mourn ye, because the long-sought shrine He clasps in ecstacy divine, And lays his load of sin and gloom Repentant on a Saviour's tomb? -- Behold yon ship, with wrecking form Her proud masts quivering to the storm, Rude winds and waves with headlong force Impel her on her dangerous course; The pallid crew their hope resign, And powerless view the surgmg brine: Mourn ye, because the tempest dies, And in the haven moor'd she lies? -- Emerging from the field of strife Where slaughter'd thousands waste their life, Yon warrior see, with gushing veins, Who scarce his frantic steed restrains; The death-mist swims before his eyes As toward the well known spot he flies, Where every fond affection lies. Mourn ye, because to home restor'd, Woman's white arms enwrap her lord, And tears and smiles with varying grace Fleet o'er his cherub children's face? -- Yet on his path of toil and woe, The pilgrim from his shrine must go, The ship amid the billows strain, The warrior seek the war again: But he, whose form to death has bow'd, Whose spirit cleaves the ethereal cloud, From him hath change and sorrow fled, -- Why mourn ye, then, the righteous dead? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 39. AL-HAFIZ by EDWIN ARNOLD NEVERNESS, OR THE ONE SHIP BEACHED ON ONE FAR DISTANT SHORE by MARGARET AVISON FLANDERS NOW by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN A NEW PILGRIMAGE: 35 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE FIRE SIDE; A PASTORAL SOLILOQUY by ISAAC HAWKINS BROWNE |