I will cling fast to Thee, O God, though the waves buffet me, Thee, Thee at least I know.

Is it the prophet's thought I speak, or am I raving?
What do I know of life? what of myself?

I know not even my own work past or present,
Dim ever-shifting guesses of it spread before me,
Of newer better worlds, their mighty parturition,
Mocking, perplexing me.

And these things I see suddenly, what mean they?
As if some miracle, some hand divine unseal'd my eyes,
Shadowy vast shapes smile through the air and sky,
And on the distant waves sail countless ships,
And anthems in new tongues I hear saluting me.

823

THE LAST INVOCATION

AT the last, tenderly,

From the walls of the powerful fortress'd house,

From the clasp of the knitted locks, from the keep of the well-closed doors,

Let me be wafted.

Let me glide noiselessly forth;

With the key of softness unlock the locks-with a whisper, Set ope the doors O soul.

Tenderly-be not impatient,

(Strong is your hold O mortal flesh,

Strong is your hold O love.)

OCT 1 1 1918

THE UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN

GRADUATE LIBRARY

MAR 28 1976

DATE DUE

3 9015 03339 9422

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