midnight
And must I live , not knowing why I live , Whilst Thou and years to come pass by me here With faces hid , refusing still to give The one poor word that bids me cease to fear ? `` That word , I charge thee , speak ! Quick ! for the moments tremble on the verge Of the black chasm where lurks the midnight spell , And solemn winds already chant thy dirge -- Give Earth its Heaven , or Hell a deeper Hell ! `` Speak ! or I curse thee here ! I 'll call it YEA if but a withered twig , Tossed by the wind , falls rattling on the roof ; I 'll call it YEA , if e ` en a shutter creak , Breathe but on me , and it shall stand for proof !