Reverence Waking Hope

A power is on me, and my soul must speak To thee, thou grey, grey man, whom I behold With those white-headed children. I am bold To commune with thy setting, and to wreak My doubts on thy grey hair; for I would seek Thee in that other world, but I am told Thou goest elsewhere and wilt never hold Thy head so high as now. Oh I were weak, Weak even to despair, could I forego The tender vision which will give somehow Thee standing brightly one day even as now! Thou art a very grey old man, and so I may not pass thee darkly, but bestow A look of reverence on thy wrinkled brow.