Whence

Will he come to us out of the west
With hair all blowing free ?
Will he come, the last and best
Over the flowing sea
Prophet of days to be ?
Aye, he will come; the unseen choir
Attend his steps with song
And on his breast a deep toned lyre
And on his lips a word like fire
To burn the ancient wrong
Bay crowned and goodlier than a king;
With voice both strong and sweet
The song of freedom will he sing
And I from out of the crowd shall fling
My rose-wreath at his feet