Page:Poetical works of Mathilde Blind.djvu/459

Rh CLEAVE THOU THE WAVES.

THE DEAD.

dead abide with us! Though stark and cold

Earth seems to grip them, they are with us still:

They have forged our chains of being for good or ill

And their invisible hands these hands yet hold.

Our perishable bodies are the mould

In which their strong imperishable will—

Mortality's deep yearning to fulfil—

Hath grown incorporate through dim time untold.