Is every day the judgment day? A thousand mortals lift on high A throng of hands that plead and pray; Beneath a space of quiet sky, Their several gestures testify. Oh, mark the wistful hand that holds A sorrow in its upturned palm; The gentle hand that firmly folds Across the breast to make it calm! Oh, mark the hand by which the balm Of youth was scattered, eloquent As the grey leaf upon the tree When summer's mellow joy is spent! Above that throng of hands, oh, see The Hand that plies eternity! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 21 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE GODS OF THE COPYBOOK HEADINGS by RUDYARD KIPLING AUBADE [OR, A MORNING SONG FOR IMOGEN], FR. CYMBELINE by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE FROM AN OFFICE WINDOW by FRANCES M. BALLARD EASTERN TEMPEST by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |