Jane Wilde

27 December 1821 – 3 February 1896


Close the starry dream‐portal,
We must tread earth again,
Flashes no light immortal
Now on life’s dreary plain.
We must wait, like the Stoic,
Brave, enduring, and strong,
Till the soul’s strength heroic
Bends the fetters of wrong.

By the lore life has brought us,
We shall fathom man’s soul;
By the tears sorrow taught us,
We shall measure their dole.
Guide them on through affliction,
All earth’s Saviours have trod,

Till from life’s crucifixion
They can soar up to God.

From the heart of man weeding
Up each rough brier and thorn,
With a hero‐pride treading
Down the world’s shallow scorn;
With a saint’s self‐denying
Toiling still for our land;
With a Christ‐strength defying
Earth and Hell’s gathered band.

In the soul’s earnest travail
Must the God‐work be wrought;
By the world’s woe and cavil,
Must the deep heart be taught.
Blighted youth, crushed ambition,
On the altar must lie;
’Tis the world‐old tradition,
Thus the Prophet must die.

But this deep lore can only
Be learnéd in the gloom,
Where the gifted tread, lonely,
The Prophet‐path of doom:
For by life‐blood, and brain‐sweat,
Is the altar‐flame fed;
And from hearts crushed by pain, yet
Must the incense be shed.

Still, ’tis grand this wild warring,
Upon life’s battle‐field;
Fear not the heart’s marring
If the soul never yield.
Fight for God’s Truth yet longer,
’Gainst the fierce storms of life,
For the strong soul grows stronger
By the combat and strife.
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