O phantom bars and futile bands!
O fettered feet of clay!
O blind unfaith and folded hands!
The East is growing grey.
Look up! Hope’s rainbow hangs athwart
More joys than life can hold!
O loving heart, O longing heart,
The skies are dropping gold!
O heavy heart, O laggard trust,
O lips too faint to pray!
Tho’ dauntless dust go down to dust
Yet each shall have his day.
From alien seas no man may chart,
From stress of wind and foam,
O weary heart, O waiting heart,
Your ships are beating home!
Marie E. J. Pitt, The Horses of the Hills and Other Verses, Melbourne: Specialty Press, 1911, page 109