I N pity and fear the measured voices grow,
Phrasing majestically an ancient strife
Of Light with darkness and of Death with Life,
And Man between them bandied to and fro.

Hark in the weary ineffectual hum
Death is the only voice rings high and strong;
Whose glory leads the willing heart along,
His Fear-no-more all fears hath overcome.

Sorrow is but a feeble hated thing:
Exult! the slow and monstrous pomps of Fate
Alone are large enough the soul to sate.
Perish the wounded captive! Hail the King!

For Death blows louder than the trump of Fame,
Blows cold upon the laurels of renown;
Your crowns of evergreen drop down, drop down;
A thousand kings are dust without a name.

Bow low, bow low before the Conqueror's car!
Deep treasure of magnificences past,
Vainly deferred, we fall to thee at last:
Hail glorious death, sole heir of all we are!

Run to embrace with trembling hands elate
The Admirable Terror! Rise! Appear,
O unambiguous, ultimate, sincere!
Come, take us all who art so true and great!

They pale, the pomps of Death decline and pale:
Mute is delirious brass, tempestuous drum
Which struck the melting pipes of Sorrow dumb.
Soul, what is left thee now when all things fail?

The common murmur of the world goes on;
Breaking hearts with a sharp and sudden cry
Like blades of lightning in a desert sky
Point the black silence of Oblivion.

Despair, yet wonder. There are things too strange
For open eyes, for waking wits too hard:
The wings of Music beat in chambers barred,
And purchased only with a life's exchange.

The Void — but in the Void serenely warm
And clear the silver tongues of hope, unsealed,
Bubble a tranquil melody new-revealed:
Death dips the horizon like a vented storm.

Listen! She has the word: a second prime
Comes tenderly of dust and tears to birth.
O fruitful dust! Wise peace of tears for mirth!
And Faith rides steady on the wheels of Time.

I N pity and fear the measured voices grow,
Phrasing majestically an ancient strife
Of Light with darkness and of Death with Life,
And Man between them bandied to and fro.

Hark in the weary ineffectual hum
Death is the only voice rings high and strong;
Whose glory leads the willing heart along,
His Fear-no-more all fears hath overcome.

Sorrow is but a feeble hated thing:
Exult! the slow and monstrous pomps of Fate
Alone are large enough the soul to sate.
Perish the wounded captive! Hail the King!

For Death blows louder than the trump of Fame,
Blows cold upon the laurels of renown;
Your crowns of evergreen drop down, drop down;
A thousand kings are dust without a name.

Bow low, bow low before the Conqueror's car!
Deep treasure of magnificences past,
Vainly deferred, we fall to thee at last:
Hail glorious death, sole heir of all we are!

Run to embrace with trembling hands elate
The Admirable Terror! Rise! Appear,
O unambiguous, ultimate, sincere!
Come, take us all who art so true and great!

They pale, the pomps of Death decline and pale:
Mute is delirious brass, tempestuous drum
Which struck the melting pipes of Sorrow dumb.
Soul, what is left thee now when all things fail?

The common murmur of the world goes on;
Breaking hearts with a sharp and sudden cry
Like blades of lightning in a desert sky
Point the black silence of Oblivion.

Despair, yet wonder. There are things too strange
For open eyes, for waking wits too hard:
The wings of Music beat in chambers barred,
And purchased only with a life's exchange.

The Void — but in the Void serenely warm
And clear the silver tongues of hope, unsealed,
Bubble a tranquil melody new-revealed:
Death dips the horizon like a vented storm.

Listen! She has the word: a second prime
Comes tenderly of dust and tears to birth.
O fruitful dust! Wise peace of tears for mirth!
And Faith rides steady on the wheels of Time.