Classic Poem

Surrounded by unnumbered foes,
Against my soul the battle goes!
Yet though I weary, sore distressed,
I know that I shall reach my rest:
— I lift my tearful eyes above, —
— His banner over me is love.

Its sword my spirit will not yield,
Though flesh may faint upon the field;
He waves before my fading sight
The branch of palm, — the crown of light;
— I lift my brightening eyes above, —
— His banner over me is love.

My cloud of battle-dust may dim,
His veil of splendor curtain him!
And in the midnight of my fear
I may not feel him standing near;
— But, as I lift mine eyes above,
— His banner over me is love.