O Noble heart, and brave impetuous hand! So all engrossed in work of public weal! Thou couldst not pursue thy own distress to feel While maladies of Wrong oppressed the land. The hopes that marshaled at thy pen's command To cheer the Right, had not the power to heal The ever-aching wounds thou didst conceal Beneath a front so stoically bland That no one guessed thy inward agony. - Until the Master, leaning from His throne, Heard some soul wailing in an undertone, And bending lower down, discovered thee, And clasped thy weary hand within His own And lifted thee to rest eternally. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...INSTANS TYRANNUS by ROBERT BROWNING WOODNOTES: 2 by RALPH WALDO EMERSON THE WINDHOVER: TO CHRIST OUR LORD by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS THREE FRIENDS OF MINE: 5; SONNET by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW ESCAPE AT BEDTIME by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON ODES: BOOK 1: ODE 5. AGAINST SUSPICION by MARK AKENSIDE |