The cries of victory shall charm
Thy dying eyes to rest.

"And succoured ones shall praise his name
Who, toiling for them, died.
And, nobly sung, his honest fame
Shall beat in hearts unborn, and claim
Their love and grateful pride.

"And Love will lead her sacrifice
To where a shining row
Stand beckoning to the heights of bliss;
And she will clasp his hands and kiss
Welcome upon his brow."

I knew not when the singing ceased
To trance my brightened soul,
Then from that long eclipse released.
But looking hopeful towards the East,
I saw flush pole to pole

The dawn, that had begun to show,
And through dank vapour burned,
As in a sick face lying low
The rich incarnadine would glow,
When healthy life returned.

Small drowsy chirping met the light,
And dim in lowlands far
Lone marsh-birds winged their misty flight;