SELECTIONS IN ENGLISH POETRY
But souls tempered with fire,
Fervent, heroic, and good, 160
Helpers and friends of mankind.
Servants of God !—or sons
Shall I not call you? because
Not as servants ye knew
Your Father's innermost mind, 165
His, who unwillingly sees
One of his little ones lost,—
Yours is the praise, if mankind
Hath not as yet in its march
Fainted, and fallen, and died ! 170
See! In the rocks of the world
Marches the host of mankind,
A feeble, wavering line.
Where are they tending—A God
Marshalled them, gave them their goaL 175
Ah, but the way is so long !
Years they have been in the wild!
Sore thirst plagues them, the rocks.
Rising all round, overawe;
Factions divide them, their host 180
Threatens to break, to dissolve.
—Ah ! keep, keep them combined !
Else, of the myriads \vho fill
That army, not one shall arrive;
Sole they shall stray; in the rocks 185
Stagger forever in vain,
Die one by one in the waste.
Then, in such hour of need
Of your fainting, dispirited race,
297