Alec de Candole Poems

O Sleep, sweet sleep, come over me.
And waft me to the land of dreams.
Where everywhere flow copious streams
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I have not lived in vain, if one of men,
Who trod the earth and breathed the air with me,
Have felt the touch of man's divinity
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In that rough barn we knelt, and took and ate
Simply together there the bread divine.
The body of God made flesh, and drank in wine
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Not once, but often, Truth has been rewarded
With fiercest hatred, foulest calumny,
While Vice has reigned supreme, by men belauded,
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O God, for Truth, or some faint glimpse of Truth,
To smite through mists of night, and pierce the sense,
And drive away the dreary vast offence
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— THE old, the bitter, everlasting Why,
That rises ever to the throne of God,
His human creatures' wail. And some have cursed
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And if a bullet in the midst of strife
Should still the pulse of this unquiet life
Twere well: be death an everlasting rest,
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As one that stands upon the beetling sheer
Of some dread precipice, when midmost night
With whelming dark has hidden from his sight
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As one who wanders on a desert plain.
An arid waste of dead sterility,
Then finds a green oasis suddenly.
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Changeful with glow and chequered shade, a sight
Now gloom'd with grief, and now with joy elate,
How strange, how sweet, is life, how poised our ...
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