I allege the world is falling,
chaos, rampant, so appalling,
speeds this dust t'ward doom unending.
But as I lay, seldom shifting,
in the east, the gloom is lifting,
alas, 'tis past all hope of reaching.
So then I sigh, but keep my gaze,
upon that spot, now blurred by haze,
a glimpse of silver, it must be!
somehow showing, when all's neglect,
"A chance! Rescue!" my heart reflects.
So even if my eyes deceive,
If yonder lining, long concealed,
is not proof of Heaven revealed,
Never again shouldst hope desert me.
Now powerless, Fate's decrepit finger,
seeking only souls that linger,
withers as my eyes transform,
Unlike themselves, and with new strength,
no more measuring shadows' length.
A rain, so fresh, newly born,
Comes in time to quench the thirsty.
I feel the smallest hint of Mercy.
"A life is best, if Hope is nourished."
Without it, Death, intent and prescient,
grim, remorseless, ever present,
inches closer until the reckoning.
But with new hope, and soon to stand,
drinking life from strengthen'd hands,
focused still on glory's promise,
I deeply swallow, and dip again,
far from home, so sore, unmanned,
shipwrecked, it's true, and just afloat,
Now the clouds, I see anew,
outward naught but purest gloom,
Contain the silvered hope surpassing,
Conceal vaults of freshest dew.