Above and Below / James Russell Lowell

I 

O dwellers in the valley-land, 
Who in deep twilight grope and cower, 
Till the slow mountain's dial-hand 
Shorten to noon's triumphal hour, 
While ye sit idle, do ye think 
The Lord's great work sits idle too? 
That light dare not o'erleap the brink 
Of morn, because 'tis dark with you? 

Though yet your valleys skulk in night, 
In God's ripe fields the day is cried, 
And reapers, with their sickles bright, 
Troop, singing, down the mountain-side: 
Come up, and feel what health there is 
In the frank Dawn's delighted eyes, 
As, bending with a pitying kiss, 
The night-shed tears of Earth she dries! 

The Lord wants reapers: oh, mount up, 
Before night comes, and says, 'Too late!' 
Stay not for taking scrip or cup, 
The Master hungers while ye wait; 
'Tis from these heights alone your eyes 
The advancing spears of day can see, 
That o'er the eastern hill-tops rise, 
To break your long captivity. 


II 

Lone watcher on the mountain-height, 
It is right precious to behold 
The first long surf of climbing light 
Flood all the thirsty east with gold; 
But we, who in the shadow sit, 
Know also when the day is nigh, 
Seeing thy shining forehead lit 
With his inspiring prophecy. 

Thou hast thine office; we have ours; 
God lacks not early service here, 
But what are thine eleventh hours 
He counts with us for morning cheer; 
Our day, for Him, is long enough, 
And when He giveth work to do, 
The bruised reed is amply tough 
To pierce the shield of error, through. 

But not the less do thou aspire 
Light's earlier messages to preach; 
Keep back no syllable of fire, 
Plunge deep the rowels of thy speech. 
Yet God deems not thine aeried sight 
More worthy than our twilight dim; 
For meek Obedience, too, is Light, 
And following that is finding Him.