His was the task and his the lordly gift
Our eyes, our hearts, bent earthward, to uplift;
He found us chained in Plato’s fabled cave,
Our faces long averted from the blaze
Of Heaven’s broad light, and idly turned to gaze
On shadows, flitting ceaseless as the wave
That dashes ever idly on some isle enchanted;
By shadows haunted
We sat,—amused in youth, in manhood daunted,
In vacant age forlorn,—then slipped within the grave,
The same dull chain still clasped around our shroud;
These captives, bound and bowed,
He from their dungeon like that angel led
Who softly to imprisoned Peter said,
“Arise up quickly! gird thyself and flee!”
We wist not whose the thrilling voice, we knew our souls were free.