Iii

Thou heart of all the hearts of men, Tameless and free, And vague as that marsh-wandering fire, Leading the world’s outworn desire A night march down this ghostly fen From sea to sea!

Through this divided camp of dream Thy feet have passed, As one who should set hand to rouse His comrades from their heavy drowse; For only their own deeds redeem God’s sons at last.

But the dim world will dream and sleep Beneath thy hand, As poppies in the windy morn, Or valleys where the standing corn Whispers when One goes forth to reap The weary land.

O captain of the rebel host, Lead forth and far! Thy toiling troopers of the night Press on the unavailing fight; The sombre field is not yet lost, With thee for star.

Thy lips have set the hail and haste Of clarions free To bugle down the wintry verge Of time forever, where the surge Thunders and crumbles on a waste And open sea.