DEAR bard and prophet, that thy rest is deep, Thanks be to God! Not now on thy heart falls Rumor intolerable. Sleep, O sleep! See not the blood of Israel that crawls Warm yet, into the moon and night; that cries Even as of old, till all the world stands still At rapine that even to Israel's agonies Seems strange and monstrous, a mad dream of ill. Thou sleepest! Yea, but as in grief we said:— There is a spiritual life unconquerable. So, bard of the ancient people, though, being dead Thou speakest and thy voice we love full well. Never thy holy memory forsakes us; Thy spirit is the trumpet that awakes us! RICHARD WATSON GILDER. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SUNSET: ST. LOUIS by SARA TEASDALE THE PICKET-GUARD [NOVEMBER, 1861] by ETHEL LYNN BEERS THE WELCOME by THOMAS OSBORNE DAVIS A LITTLE DUTCH GARDEN by HARRIET WHITNEY DURBIN DOROTHY Q; A FAMILY PORTRAIT by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES PEEWEE by ALFRED FRANCIS KREYMBORG ULTIMA THULE: MY CATHEDRAL by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW BROWN OF OSSAWATOMIE [DECEMBER 2, 1859] by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER |