TRIUMPHUS

At last, at last, the message! definite
As dawn, that tells the night has gone away.
The Silence has grown eloquent with it
The Silence that, late filled me with dismay,
So dumb it was. Triumphant now I sit
So near to God and you I need not pray
For only prayers of thankfulness were fit
For this estate wherein I dwell to-day.

You live, you love me! You have heard my call
And answered it in your own way. The proof
So satisfies the soul of me, were all
The hosts of earth henceforth to stand aloof
Till I recanted my reply were this
"One men call dead has sent me messages"

Oh, my Beloved! Through there months like years
I know you might have reached me sooner here,
Had I not blurred the trail by storms of tears:
And yet, how could, how could I help it, dear?
Now you have found a way to make God's spheres
Seem very intimate and very near.
And radiant my lonely path appears,
The light you cast upon it is so clear.

I stand victorious at the longed-for goal
With open vision where I once was blind,
And cry aloud to every suffering soul
"Pray without ceasing seek, and ye shall find.
Though Science sneer and school and church condemn
Your dead dwell near you may commune with them."

Sonnets of sorrow and triumph. by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
New York: George H. Doran, 1918.


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