He Preached To The Spirits In Prison

Not only in that other world, O friends, Do spirits sigh against their chain! Not only there is long Remembrance vain, And Hope incapable of noble ends! There is no house nor heart, no day nor night, Where some imprisoned thing that should be free Pines not unconsciously, Like one born blind, who knows not of the Light Yet weeps at sunrise. When the Preacher cries, And, under all the roof, immortal eyes Look up and listen, cries he not to these? Alas! he can but move them, as a breeze Moves, though it cannot turn, the coming sea! But if a great Deliverer spake (we know He did and shall), the spirits should arise, His voice should change all faces instantly, And that vast congregation of the skies Which sees God as He is, thereby to grow For ever like Him, should be manifest Here among daily men, for it is here Behind the bars. Then should the Love, which dies For those it trusts too little, cast out fear, Be generous and gentle, and at rest, And so be perfect. Then should Truth appear (She needs no more), and dumb appeals, which dwell In secret places of the heart, should swell To needless thunders, where all feet outrun Their summons. Then should every shadow cease, And all the sky grow tender to the sun, And hindrances and trifles melt away, Showing the soul in lineaments of peace Bare as a statue, where all lines betray Some early vision of divinity. As if a people, which had never heard Of any sound but speech, should at a word Shake to the birth of music, sense and power Coming together, all the air possest With unknown glory, uttering in an hour The grand, sweet, language of Eternity!