Reverence Waking Hope

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Reverence Waking Hope

A power is on me, and my soul must speak

To thee, thou grey, grey man, whom I behold

With those white-headed children. I am bold

To commune with thy setting, and to wreak

My doubts on thy grey hair; for I would seek

Thee in that other world, but I am told

Thou goest elsewhere and wilt never hold

Thy head so high as now. Oh I were weak,

Weak even to despair, could I forego

The tender vision which will give somehow

Thee standing brightly one day even as now!

Thou art a very grey old man, and so

I may not pass thee darkly, but bestow

A look of reverence on thy wrinkled brow.