midnight
perchance my heart was proud That I alone should know that word to speak ; And now , sweet Truth , shine upon these , I pray . ' If thou wouldst live the Truth in very deed , Thou hast thy joy , but thou hast more of pain . Others will live in peace , and thou be fain To bargain with despair , and in thy need To make thy meal upon the scantiest weed . These palaces , for thee they stand in vain ; Thine is a ruinous hut ; and oft the rain Shall drench thee in the midnight ; yea the speed Of earth outstrip thee pilgrim , while thy feet Move slowly up the heights . Yet will there come Through the time-rents about thy moving cell , An arrow for despair , and oft the hum Of far-off populous realms where spirits dwell . TO * * * * Speak , Prophet of the Lord ! We may not start To find thee with us in thine ancient dress , Haggard and pale from some bleak wilderness , Empty of all save God and thy loud heart : Nor with like rugged message quick to dart Into the hideous fiction mean and base : But yet , O prophet man , we need not less , But more of earnest ; though it is thy part To deal in other words , if thou wouldst smite The living Mammon , seated , not as then In bestial quiescence grimly dight , But thrice as much an idol-god as when He stared at his own feet from morn to night .