Page:Songs of two nations (IA songsoftwonation00swin).pdf/31

 Because the supreme sunrise is not yet, Is the young dew not wet? Wilt thou not yet abide a little while, Soul without fear or guile, Mazzini,—O our prophet, O our priest, A little while at least? A little hour of doubt and of control, Sustain thy sacred soul; Withhold thine heart, our father, but an hour; Is it not here, the flower, Is it not blown and fragrant from the root, And shall not be the fruit? Thy children, even thy people thou hast made, Thine, with thy words arrayed, Clothed with thy thoughts and girt with thy desires, Yearn up toward thee as fires. Art thou not father, O father, of all these? From thine own Genoese To where of nights the lower extreme lagune Feels its Venetian moon, Nor suckling's mouth nor mother's breast set free But hath that grace through thee. The milk of life on death's unnatural brink Thou gavest them to drink, The natural milk of freedom; and again They drank, and they were men. The wine and honey of freedom and of faith They drank, and cast off death. Bear with them now; thou art holier: yet endure, Till they as thou be pure.