Page:The poetical works of Matthew Arnold, 1897.djvu/455

Rh Hath not as yet in its march

Fainted and fallen and died.

See! In the rocks of the world

Marches the host of mankind,

A feeble, wavering line.

Where are they tending? A God

Marshalled them, gave them their goal.

Ah, but the way is so long!

Years they have been in the wild:

Sore thirst plagues them; the rocks,

Rising all round, overawe;

Factions divide them; their host

Threatens to break, to dissolve.

Ah! keep, keep them combined!

Else, of the myriads who fill

That army, not one shall arrive;

Sole they shall stray: on the rocks

Batter forever in vain,

Die one by one in the waste.

Then, in such hour of need

Of your fainting, dispirited race,

Ye like angels appear,

Radiant with ardor divine.

Beacons of hope, ye appear!

Languor is not in your heart,

Weakness is not in your word,

Weariness not on your brow.

Ye alight in our van! at your voice,

Panic, despair, flee away.

Ye move through the ranks, recall

The stragglers, refresh the outworn,

Praise, re-inspire the brave.