The Dreamer

Henry Jerome Stockard

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THE dreamer cried, ((Oh, that it once were mine
o build a song that should defy the years—
One that should lift with hope those bowed in tears,
And touch the wavering with a strength divine;
An all-puissant lay, whose every line
Should front some wrong as with a thousand spears,
Or strike to mist the horde of lurking Fears
That guard the keep where Truth immured doth pine!))
The while earth’s children, worn with care and pale,
Grieved for the light lost here for evermore,
Each day went by him, wandering in despair;
The blind unnoted passed him, and the frail;
Sin dwelt unchallenged near his very door,
And Error, mailed in guile, was castled there.

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