A power is on me, and my soul must speak <br />To thee, thou grey, grey man, whom I behold <br />With those white-headed children. I am bold <br />To commune with thy setting, and to wreak <br />My doubts on thy grey hair; for I would seek <br />Thee in that other world, but I am told <br />Thou goest elsewhere and wilt never hold <br />Thy head so high as now. Oh I were weak, <br />Weak even to despair, could I forego <br />The tender vision which will give somehow <br />Thee standing brightly one day even as now! <br />Thou art a very grey old man, and so <br />I may not pass thee darkly, but bestow <br />A look of reverence on thy wrinkled brow.<br /><br />George MacDonald<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/reverence-waking-hope/
