Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/196

168 Yet thrice art stricken. First, war harried thee;

Then the dread circling tempest drove its plow

Right through thy palaces; and now, O now!

A sound of terror, and thy children flee

Into the night and death. O Deity!

Thou God of war and whirlwind, whose dark brow,

Frowning, makes tremble sea and solid land!

These are Thy creatures who to heaven cry

While hell roars 'neath them, and its portals ope;

To Thee they call,—O Thou who bidst them die,

Who hast forgotten to withhold Thy hand,—

For thou, Destroyer, art man's only Hope!

PART V

HIDE NOT THY HEART

I

is my creed,

This be my deed:

Hide not thy heart!"

Soon we depart;

Mortals are all;

A breath, then the pall;

A flash on the dark—

All's done—stiff and stark.

No time for a lie;

The truth, and then die.

Hide not thy heart!

II

Forth with thy thought!

Soon 't will be naught,

And thou in thy tomb.

Now is air, now is room.