CONCLUSION

Why sleeps the future, as a snake enrolled,

Coil within coil, at noon-tide? For the WORD

Yields, if with unpresumptuous faith explored,

Power at whose touch the sluggard shall unfold

His drowsy rings. Look forth!— that Stream behold,

THAT STREAM upon whose bosom we have passed

Floating at ease while nations have effaced

Nations, and Death has gathered to his fold

Long lines of mighty Kings — look forth, my Soul!

( Nor in thisvision be thou slow to trust )

The living Waters, less and less by guilt

Stained and polluted, brighten as they roll,

Till they have reached the eternal City — built

For the perfected Spirits of the just!