Classic Poem

IN Time OF S TRESS

Lift, O dark and glorious Wonder,
Once again thy gleaming sword,
Cleave this killing doubt asunder
With one sheer and sacred word!

For my heart is weak and broken,
And the struggle runs too high,
And there is no burning token
In the new immortal sky.

Oh, not curb or courage only
Does my hour demand of me,
It is thought supreme and lonely
And responsible and free!

And I quail before the danger
As a bark before the blast,
When the beacon star's a stranger
In the mountains piling fast,

And there is no light but reason
And the compass of the ship.
God, a word of thine in season!
God, a motion of thy lip!