Page:The collected poems, lyrical and narrative, of A. Mary F. Robinson.djvu/209

 {{block center|{{sc|To-morrow}} or in twenty centuries The sudden falling open of a lid On some grey tomb beside the Pyramid May bring the First Evangel to our eyes. That day, who knows with what aghast surprise {{gap|1em}}Our priests shall touch the very deeds He did, {{gap|1em}}And learn the truth so many ages hid, And find, perchance, the Christ did never rise. What then? shall all our faith be accounted vain? {{gap|1em}}Nothing be left of all our nights of prayer? {{gap|2em}}Nothing of all the scruples, all the tears {{gap|2em}}Of endless generations' endless years } Take heart! Be sure the fruits of these remain. {{gap|1em}}Hark to the Inner Witness: Christ is there! }}