Page:A Treasury of South African Poetry.djvu/154

128 O Desire! art thou prophet or friend? Wherefore stand Solemnly pointing with eloquent hand Mortals (whose feet are on burial sod!) Up to the Infinite, up to a God?

A prophet I hail thee, and tremblingly cry— "May we grasp a great Destiny—scaling the sky!" What is remorse for the failure to-day But the Voice of Omnipotence saying "Ye may!" Rev. A. Vine Hall.