Silence here—­for love is silent, gazing on the lessening sail;
  Silence here—­for grief is voiceless when the mighty minstrels fail;
  Silence here—­but far beyond us, many voices crying, Hail!

“IN MEMORIAM”

  The record of a faith sublime,
    And hope, through clouds, far-off discerned;
    The incense of a love that burned
  Through pain and doubt defying Time: 

  The story of a soul at strife
    That learned at last to kiss the rod,
    And passed through sorrow up to God,
  From living to a higher life: 

  A light that gleams across the wave
    Of darkness, down the rolling years,
    Piercing the heavy mist of tears—­
  A rainbow shining o’er a grave.

VICTOR HUGO

1802-1902

  Heart of France for a hundred years,
    Passionate, sensitive, proud, and strong,
  Quick to throb with her hopes and fears,
    Fierce to flame with her sense of wrong! 
    You, who hailed with a morning song
  Dream-light gilding a throne of old: 
  You, who turned when the dream grew cold,
  Singing still, to the light that shone
  Pure from Liberty’s ancient throne,
      Over the human throng! 
  You, who dared in the dark eclipse,—­
    When the pygmy heir of a giant name
    Dimmed the face of the land with shame,—­
  Speak the truth with indignant lips,
  Call him little whom men called great,
      Scoff at him, scorn him, deny him,
  Point to the blood on his robe of state,
      Fling back his bribes and defy him!

  You, who fronted the waves of fate
    As you faced the sea from your island home,
  Exiled, yet with a soul elate,
    Sending songs o’er the rolling foam,
  Bidding the heart of man to wait
      For the day when all should see
    Floods of wrath from the frowning skies
    Fall on an Empire founded in lies,
      And France again be free! 
  You, who came in the Terrible Year
    Swiftly back to your broken land,
  Now to your heart a thousand times more dear,—­
    Prayed for her, sung to her, fought for her,
    Patiently, fervently wrought for her,
          Till once again,
    After the storm of fear and pain,
  High in the heavens the star of France stood clear!

    You, who knew that a man must take
  Good and ill with a steadfast soul,
  Holding fast, while the billows roll
    Over his head, to the things that make
  Life worth living for great and small,
      Honour and pity and truth,
      The heart and the hope of youth,
  And the good God over all! 
      You, to whom work was rest,
    Dauntless Toiler of the Sea,
      Following ever the joyful quest
  Of beauty on the shores of old Romance,
      Bard of the poor of France,
    And warrior-priest of world-wide