NOT drowsihood and dreams and mere idless, Nor yet the blessedness of strength regained, Alone are in what men call sleep. The past, My unsuspected soul, my parents' voice, The generations of my forbears, yea, The very will of God himself are there And potent-working: so that many a doubt Is wiped away at daylight, many a soil Washed cleanlier, many a puzzle riddled plain. Strong, silent forces push my puny self Towards unguessed issues, and the waking man Rises a Greatheart where a Slave lay down. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...YOUTH by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON A SONG: REVENGE AGAINST CYNTHIA by PHILIP AYRES AN EPITAPH, ON A FOOLISH BOASTER by PHILIP AYRES FASHION; A DIALOGUE by JAMES HAY BEATTIE A VILLANELLE OF COLLEGE by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE THE LEADERS by LOUISE E. V. BOYD WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF HANNAH MORE'S WORKS by ROBERT BURNS |