Page:Roden Noel - A Little Child's Monument - 1881.pdf/43

 By one supreme pale presence, Monte d'Oro! His spirit-robes far floating, a dim grey, Sombre with forest, pallid with the moon, His kingly crest snow-gleaming to the stars.

Pan is not dead! He lives! He lives for ever! These awful Demiurgic Powers named Nature Nourish, involve a half-alive, blind soul, A human soul, who fondly deems them dead. Surely the Lord is making us alive! Mine aching wound shall heal; for I shall find My lost, for whom I long; from thee, my friend, The weary burden of thy doubt shall pass. Sorrow and Wrong are pangs of a new birth: All we who suffer bleed for one another; No life may live alone, but all in all; We lie within the tomb of our dead selves, Waiting till One command us to arise.