Better Day, The

A better day! All prophets speak
     Its coming, with their tongues of flame;
     It ever comes, it is, it came,
But eyes are dim and hearts are weak.

Broad as the universal sky,
     Deep as the center of the sphere,
     Its glory flashes on the seer,
Its vital heat goes pulsing by.

The sun pours glory down the vale
     When morning overflows the brim
     Of God’s blue cup, and under Him
“Earth laughs in flowers to bid Him “Hail!”

But in that red libation runs
     A subtler effluence down the soul,
     A beam that seeks a deeper goal,
A day diviner than the sun’s!

The little birds, struck through with thrills
     Of morning, vibrate into song,
     Full, overfull, of glees that throng,
And gurgle through their narrow bills.

Sheer sunlight is enough for them,
     And they are glad. We sigh for more,
     And sadden in its Danaë’s shower,
For richer gold, a purer gem

And we who sign, and they who see
     The inner glory, with one pang
     Strive for a note no genius sang,
A sinless era’s golden key!

Till when the soul almost denies
     The unseen God it yearned to win,
     And the arms drop—He stands within
The bosom expanded by its cries.

Our pangs are throes of life's new birth;
     The pallid sun's victorious hymns 
     Are poured in frost from naked limbs, 
Bird-sagas of awakening earth.

Faith calls the Illy from its tomb;
     The coming day has come to them 
     Who see her garment's golden hem
Shake star-dust over midnight's gloom.

The little soul may draw its fill, 
     And crow on Nature's dandling knees, 
     The larger life, more hard to please, 
Drains all her breast and hungers still.

We are sateless, wailing in distress, 
     Or storming heaven's reluctant gate, 
     Wretched or rampant, because great, 
And born for More, will take no Less.

In every hope, in every pain
     The promise breathes; our very night 
     Is but our shadow in the light, 
We turn and all is clear again.

The Coming Day's eternal dawn
     Whitens the shore-line of our east, 
     Unrisen still, but still increased,
As through the unending spires we're drawn.