Page:The poems of Emma Lazarus volume 1.djvu/136

122 Vague thoughts and gleams prophetic filled his brain. &quot; Ah, fool ! &quot; he mused, &quot; to look for help from men. Had they the will to aid, they lack the power. In mine own flesh and soul the sin had birth, Through mine own anguish it must be atoned. Our saviours are not saints and ministers, But tear-strung women, children soft of heart, Or fellow-sufferers, who, by some chance word, Some glance of comfort, save us from despair. These I have found, thank heaven! to strengthen trust In mine own kind, when all the world grew dark. Make me not proud in spirit, O my God! Yea, in thy sight I am one mass of sin, One black and foul corruption, yet I know My frailty is exceeded by thy love. Neither is this the slender straw of hope, Whereto I, drowning, cling, but firm belief, That fills my inmost soul with vast content. As surely as the hollow faiths of old Shriveled to dust before one ray of Truth, So will these modern temples pass away, Piled upon rotten doctrines, baseless forms, And man will look in his own breast for help, Yea, search for comfort his own inward reins, Revere himself, and find the God within. Patience and patience! &quot; Through the sleepless night