High hopes that burned like stars sublime
Go down the heavens of freedom,
And true hearts perish in the time
We bitterliest need them;
But never sit we down and say,
There's nothing left but sorrow--
We walk the wilderness to-day,
The Promised Land to-morrow.
Our birds of song are silent now,
There are no flowers blooming,
But life beats in the frozen bough
And freedom's spring is coming.
And freedom's tide comes up alway
Though we may stand in sorrow;
And our good bark, aground to-day,
Shall float again to-morrow.
Though hearts brood o'er the past, our eyes
With shining futures glisten;
Lo! now the dawn bursts up the skies:
Lean out your souls and listen!
The earth rolls freedom's radiant way,
And ripens with her sorrow;
And 'tis the martyrdom to-day
Brings victory to-morrow.
Through all the long night of the years
The people's cry ascended;
The earth was wet with blood and tears
Ere their meek sufferings ended.
The few shall not forever sway,
The many toil in sorrow,
The bars of hell are strong to-day
But Christ shall rise to-morrow.
'Tis weary watching wave on wave,
But still the tide heaves onward;
We climb like corals, grave on grave,
But build a pathway sunward;
We're beaten back in many a fray,
But strength divine will borrow--
And where our vanguard rests to-day
Our rear shall march to-morrow.
Then, Youth! flame-earnest, still aspire;
With energies immortal,
To many a haven of desire
Your yearning opes a portal.
And though age wearies by the way,
And hearts break in the furrow,
We sow the golden grain to-day--
The harvest comes to-morrow.
--Gerald Massey.