The Project Gutenberg eBook ofCosmosThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: CosmosCreator: Ernest McGaffeyRelease date: August 6, 2015 [eBook #49631]Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Al Haines*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COSMOS ***[image]Ernest McGaffeyCOSMOSBy ERNEST McGAFFEYThe Philosopher PressWausau WisconsinCOPYRIGHTED 1903BY ERNEST McGAFFEYDEDICATED TOCARTER H. HARRISONOF CHICAGOCOSMOSONEIGo search the æons an you willWhere withered leaves of Doubt are whirled,And who hath solved this riddle, Life,Or Death—that moves with sails unfurled,Beyond the straining eyes of manMarooned upon an unknown world.IINor tongue hath told, nor vision caughtThat paradox, Primeval Cause;Each age has had some parableEach age succeeding marked the flaws;While shifted, with the calendar,What men have termed generic laws.IIICreed after creed behold them nowLike Etna on Vesuvius piled;Till, scaled to earth by drifting sandsThey lie in later days reviled,And pushed aside by Time's rough handAs toys are, by a peevish child.IVFor Priest-made doctrine reads grotesque.And earthly worship is but dross;Whether it be your Brahm of IndOr squat and hideous Chinese Joss;Or Jove, aloft on cloud-capped throneOr the pale Christ upon his cross.VWhy question still the blindfold gravesOr pluck the veil of Isis dread?Over Death's icy mysteryA pall immutable is spread;And never tear-wrung agonyShall move the lips we loved—once dead.VIWhy grope in labyrinthian maze?Why palter thus with doubt and fear?The Past is but the mollusc printThe Future looms, a barrier sheer;The Present centers in To-dayThe hope for men is Now, and Here.VIIBelieve no scientific cantThat man descended from the ape;Gorilla-like once beat his breastAnd grew at last to human shape,To watch the flocks, and till the fields,Harry the seas and bruise the grape.VIIIFor though enrobed in savage skinsAnd though his forehead backward ran,The brute was not all-dominantSome spark revealed a Primal plan;His brain was coupled with his willThe hairy mammal still was man.IXAnd ever as the cycles wanedHe came and went, he rose and fell,At times transformed, as butterfliesThat rise from chrysalis in the cell;And oft through hate and ignoranceSunk downward deep as fabled Hell.XBut through it all, and with it allHow-e'er the upward trending veers,He fought his fight against great oddsHe peopled ice-bound hemispheres,Endured the sweltering Torrid ZonesAnd stamped his impress on the years.TWOIWhat romance hast thy childhood knownOf God-made world in seven days?Of woven sands and swaying grassAnd bird and beast in forest ways,Of panoramas vast unrolledBefore a stern Creator's gaze?IIOf rivers ribboning the vales;Of plains that stretched in smoothness down,And unborn seasons yet to beSpring's violet banks, and Autumn's brown;Bright Summer, mistress of the sun,And grey-beard Winter's boreal crown.IIIAnd when at length the scheme completeUnfolded to the Maker's sight,How He, Almighty and divineSaid in his power, "Let there be light!"Gave sun and moon, and sowed the starsAlong the furrows of the night!IVLo! every nation has its taleAnd every people, how they be;Whether where Southern zephyrs looseThe blooms from off the tamarind tree,Or where the six-month seasons bideAround the cloistered Polar sea.VAnd Science with unyielding scalesWeighs each and all of varied styles;And like a Goddess molds decreesOblivious both to tears or smiles;Points out the error, reads the ruleAnd God with Nature reconciles.VIBut who shall sift the false and true?What Oracle the rule enforce?Not man-made creed, nor man-learned lawIs wise to fathom Nature's course;No sea is deeper than its bedNo stream is higher than its source.VIIVain hope to solve the Infinite!Mere words to babble, when they say"Thus Science teaches,"—"thus our God"—Thus this or that—what of it, pray?The marvel overlapping all—Go ask the Sphynx of Yesterday.VIIIWe know the All, and nothing know;The great we ken as well as least;But sum it all when we have saidThat man is different from the beast;And spite of all TheologyThe Pagan's equal to the Priest.IXAnd globes will lapse, and suns expire;As stars have fallen, worlds can change;Forever shall the centuries rollAnd roving planets tireless range;And Life be masked in secrecyWith Death, as ever, passing strange.XAnd trow not, Mortal, in thy prideThat where yon beetling column standsRests Permanence; 'twill disappearTo sink in marsh or barren lands,Where bitterns boom, or sunlight staresAcross the immemorial sands.THREEIOf old when man to being cameHe fashioned Gods of brittle bone;Bowed down to wooden fetichesOr worshipped idols carved from stone;And, locked in Superstition's graspFor sacrifice made lives atone.IIAnd Fear was then the Higher LawAnd fleshly joys the aftermath;He knew no screed of RighteousnessAnd trod no straight and narrow path;His Deity a terror wasA Demon winged with might and wrath.IIIAnd then where Nilus dipped his feetBy Egypt sands, rose temples tallTo Isis and Osiris—Ptah—And many a God foredoomed to fall;Where sank the shades of Pharaoh's reign?Whence have they vanished, one and all?IVBut whiles to other years advancedAnd now by cosmic marvels won,Men sought remote Pelagian shoresWhere breeze and spray their tapestry spun,To wait the coming of the dayAnd there adore the rising sun.VThis passed; the Gods of Greece and RomeIn splendor thronged the earth and skies;Jove, with the thunders in his handApollo of the star-lit eyes,Aurora, Priestess of the DawnAnd Pan of haunting melodies,—VIAnd countless more; their temples fairWhere reverent Pagans curved the knee,Mid sweet, perpetual summer stoodWhile murmured as the murmuring bee,The lulling sweep of listless brineBeside the green Ægean sea.VIIAnd merged in island-wooded calmsBy towering groves of ancient oak,where Triton's charging cavalryAgainst the cliffs of Britain broke,With horrid rite of human bloodThe Celtic Druids moved and spoke.VIIIStill wheeled the cycles; still did menWith new religions make them wise;Mahomet rose magnificentAs rainbow in the eastern skies;With Seven Heavens of Koran taughtAnd Houris with the sloe-black eyes.IXBrahm, Baal, Dagon, Moloch, Thor,And legions more had long sufficed;Heavens in turn with bliss diverseAnd Hells with ebon glaciers iced;And latest on celestial scrollsThe prophets wrote the name of Christ.XWe need them not; No! each and allWill load Tradition's dusty shelf;As shattered Idols, put awayTo lie forgot like broken delf;Humanity is over all!And Man's redemption in himself.FOURIThe morning stars together sangSo runs the story, in that time,When groves were loud with melodyAnd ripples danced to liquid rhyme;Far in the embryonic spheresBefore the earth was in her prime.IIThen first the feline-padded galesUnleashed and prowling journeyed free,To purr amid the cowering grassOr roar in stormy jubilee,Or, joining in with Ocean, growlA hoarse duet of wind and sea.IIIAnd where by meadowy rushes dankThe yellow sunbeams thick were sown,And brooks flowed down through April waysO'er pebbled bar and shingly stone,There first welled up in gurgling strainThe lisping current's monotone.IVAnd oft was heard, in forest aislesWhere rocking trees of leaves were thinned,And drear November wandered lornWith wild wide eyes and hair unpinned,A wailing harp of minor chordsStruck by the strong hands of the wind.VAnd Man, through imitative art,With clumsy tool and method crude,Copied these echoes as he mightTo soothe him in his solitude;And when that other sound was dumbHis reed-notes quavered music rude.VIAnd as the gentler graces cameTo vivify barbaric night,So Poesy, with singing Lyre,Descended from Parnassian height,With constellations aureoledHer raiment wove of flowing light.VIIAnd in Man's heart a thrill leaped up;His eye was lit by prophet gleams;He sought the truth of When and HowHe voiced the lyrics of the streams;His beard was tossed, his locks were grayHis soul beneath the spell of dreams.VIIIThus numbers came; and Poets livedTo chant the glories of the Race;Their rhyme on limp papyrus rollOr etched on crumbling pillar's base,Has long outlived the Kings they sungAnd conquered even Time and Space.IXAye! vain the vaunt of Heroes; vainThe deeds that once were thought sublime;And vain your Monarchs, briefly stagedIn tinselled royal pantomime;Their House was builded on the sandsAnd they unworth a random rhyme.XVain are the works of man; most vainHis bubbled Glory, Aye! or Fame;More fragile than a last-year's leafUnnoticed of the sunset's flame;And naught endures unless it standsLinked with a deathless Poet's name.FIVEIHow flourished then the lesser artsAs man to manhood slowly grew?With blackened stick from ruddy firesThat on his cave reflections threw,He scrawled the rock which sheltered himAnd thus the first rude picture drew.IIAnd catching hints from Nature's loreHe squeezed his colors from the clay;Steeped leaf and bark, and dyed the skinsThat round about his dwelling lay;And, urged by vanity, his cheeksWere daubed with dash of pigments gay.IIISo, ever as the seasons diedHis mind expanded with his will;He saw the dry leaves touched with goldAnd grass grow tawny on the hill;Found etchings on the ruffled streamsAnd marked the sunset's hectic thrill.IVAnd dreaming thus, with defter skillHe fast employed his nights and days,Spun magic webs of chequered lightsAnd limned October's purple haze;While women's faces from his brushFired, like wine, the se'er's gaze.VUntil at last was handed downBeyond the treasure-trove of Greece,Beyond the strain that Sappho sungAnd reveries of the Golden Fleece,The art of Titian, Rubens, Thal,And Tintoretto's masterpiece.VIThus, too, as man with curious eyeHad noted outline, curve, and form,In toppling surge or lofty cragIn woman's bosom beating warm,In cloudy shapes revealed on highIntaglios of the wind and storm,—VIIHe modelled from the plastic loam;On shell and boulder graved a sign;Chiselled the stately obelisksWith hieroglyphics, line on line;Colossal wrought his haughty KingsOr metal-traced the clambering vine.VIIIAnd many an image was his workAnd many a statuette and bust;Some that remain, but most that lieAs shards to outer darkness thrust;These buried under coral sandsThose cloaked beneath forgotten dust.IXUpon the lonely washes that stretchWhere the Egyptian rivers croon,And floats above the PyramidsOn tropic nights the lifeless moon,The mightiest waits,—the brooding Sphynx—Half-lion and half Daemon hewn.XSo Sculpture, pierced in mountain sidesOr dragged from Mythologic seas,Still holds a sway; and worlds will bowIn homage yet to such as these—The noble bronze by Phidias wrought,The marbles of Praxiteles.SIXITo those who for their country bleedTo those who die for freedom's sake,All Hail! for them the Immortal dawnsIn waves of lilied silver break;For them in dusky-templed nightThe eternal stars a halo make.IIIn History's tome their chronicleAn ever-living page shall be;The souls who flashed like sabers drawnThe men who died to make men free;Their flag in every land has flownTheir sails have whitened every sea.IIIOn gallows high they met their doomOr breasted straight the serried spearsOf Tyranny; in dungeons dampScarred on the stones their name appears;For them the flower of MemoryShall blossom, watered by our tears.IVBut Conquest, Glory, transient Fame,What baubles these to struggle for,When draped in sulphurous films upriseThe cannon-throated fiends of War!What childish trumpery cheap as this—The trophies of a Conqueror?VHow many an army marches forthWith bugle-note or battle-hymn,To drench the soil in human goreAnd multiply Golgothas grim;And all for what? a Ruler's piqueReligion's call, or Harlot's whim.VIAnd ghastliest far among them allWhere torn and stained the thirsty sodWith carnage reeks—where standards fly,And horses gallop, iron-shod,Are those remorseless mockeriesThe wars they wage in name of God.VIIIVague, dim and vague, and noiselessly,The Warrior's triumphs fade like haze;And building winds have heaped the sandsO'er monuments of martial days;While Legend throws a flickering gleamWhere the tall Trojan towers blaze.VIIIYea! whether sought for Woman's faceOr, Conquest-seeking, seaward poured,Or at the beck of Holy ChurchWar still shall be the thing abhorred;And they who by the sword would liveShall surely perish by the sword.IXYet whether at ThermopylæWhere battled the intrepid Greek,Or Waterloo—their quarry stillThe red-eyed ravening vultures seek;Where prowl the jackal and the foxAnd the swart raven whets his beak.XAnd somewhere, though by Alien seasThe tide of Hate unceasing frets;For dawn to dusk, and dusk to dawnThe red sun rises, no, nor sets,Save where the wraith of War is seenAbove her glittering bayonets.SEVENIHow fared the body when the soulIn olden days had taken flight?Had passed as through a shutter slipsA trembling shaft of summer light!And all that once was Life's warm glowHad sudden changed to dreadful night!IIHow fared the mourners; how the Priest;How spoken his funereal theme?What dirges for the Heroic deadWhat flowers to soften death's extreme?Was Life to them a wayside InnDeath the beginning of a dream?IIIWe cannot know; except by talesCaught in the traveller's flying loom,Or carven granite friezes foundOr parchment penned in convent gloom;Or here and there, defying TimeSome long-dead Emperor's giant tomb.IVWhere tower the steep Egyptian conesBy couriers of the storm bestrid,Wrapped in his blackening cerementsSahura lies in shadow hid,While billowy sand-curves rise and dashLike surf, against his Pyramid.VAnd on the bald Norweyan shoresWhen Odin for the Viking came,A ship was launched, and on it placedWith solemn state, the Hero's frame;The torch applied, and sent to sea,A double burial,—wave and flame.VIAnd when the Hindu Prince lay prone—In final consecration direHis Hindu Princess followed onAnd climbed the blazing funeral pyre,To stand in living sacrificeTransfigured in her robes of fire.VIIWhere the red Indian of the PlainsTo the Great Spirit bowed his head,On pole-built scaffold, Eagle-plumed,The painted warrior laid his dead;Beneath, the favorite charger slainAnd by the Chief his weapons spread.VIIIWe clothe our dead in modish dressDust unto dust the Preacher saith,The church-bells toll, the organ peals,And mourners wait with ebbing breath;Oh! grave, this is thy mockery,The weird farce-comedy of Death.IXNay! burn the shell with simplest rites;Scatter its ashes to the skies;And on the stairways of the cloudsIn winding spirals let it rise;What needs the soul of mortal garbWhether in Hell or Paradise?XAye! lost and gone; what cares the corseWhen Death unfolds his sable wings,Whether it rest in wind-swept treeOr where the deep-sea echo rings?Be laid to sleep in Potter's FieldOr lone Iona's cairn of Kings?EIGHTIAbove unsightly city roofsWhere smoky serpents trail the sky,Broods Commerce; in her factoriesA million clacking shuttles fly;Where, choked with lint, in sickly airThe little children droop and die.IIThe rattling clash of jarring wheelsAgainst the windows echoing beats;And when the pallid gas-jets flareWhere sombre night with twilight meets,Like flotsam on the stream of FateThe toiler's myriads crowd the streets.IIIWith hiving tumult to and froTrade's devotees, a hurrying mass,Through the long corridor of yearsIn due procession rise and pass;To earn their wage, to seek their goalAnd melt, like dew-drops on the grass.IVAnd here, within the age of GainOur forest-masted harbors shineWith shimmering fleets; and we go onTo climes afar of palm and vine,And in the warp of Traffic weaveA sinister and base design,VOf mild and hapless IslandersWho fall before our soldiers' aim;Of broken faith—of sophistries—Of sin, of blood-shed, and of shame;Oh! Commerce, Commerce, who shall tellThe crimes committed in thy name.VITurn, turn my Fancy, inland borneWhere Nature's solace shall not failTo ease the heart; view skyey seasWhere cloud armadas, sail on sail,Manned by the winds go warping downBelow the far horizon's trail.VIIAnd as the budding willows blowWhen March comes whirling past the lanes,With bird-note wild, and fifing windsAnd undertone of sibilant rains,On slopes where Winter's garment meltsBlue as the sea are violet stains.VIIIWhere cattle seek the shaded poolsAnd silence folds the sun-burned lands,Her auburn tresses backward flungMid-Summer, like to Ceres stands,Beside the fields of waving grainWith harvest-apples in her hands.IXAnd stealthily through winnowing duskI see the curling smoke ascend,Where lie the farms; and evermoreWhere hope, and health, and manhood blend;While stubble shorn and pastures bareProclaim the waning season's end.XAnd as beyond the naked hillsThe chill November sunset dies,And cloudward now a phalanx swimsWhere guttural honking fills the skies,Black-sculptured on approaching nightAnd southward bound, the wild-goose flies.NINEIBehold the kindred human typesTribe, Sept, and class, Race, Caste, and Clan;Red, Black and Yellow; White and Brown;Processions of Primordial ManThat wax apace, and stream acrossIn one unending caravan.IIThe Fisher-People with their shellsAnd dwellers of the Age of Stone;The Kirghiz of the Western SteppesThe Greek, the Turk, the Mongol shown,The Goth, the Frank,—I see them passLike flash-lights by a mirror thrown.IIISo, too, the Arab, burnoose cladWho braves the stifling Simoon dry,Adrift upon Saharan tidesHis awkward camels lurching high,Long, lank, uncouth, but staunch as Death,Ships of the Desert, sailing by.IVNote the Caucasian in his prideWho prates of moldy pedigrees;A mushroom he, compared in EldTo the impassive, sly Chinese;Their records co-extant with TimeAnd swarming by the sundown seas.VEach comes and goes; as came and wentRameses' millions; in their dayWhat boast was made of Egypt's KingsHow God-like seemed their valorous play;But cynic years dispersed their lineSwift hurried with the winds away.VIAye! even as motes they had their graceFor a brief moment, son and sire;Then passed; as foam that sinks at seaOr chords which flee the Minstrel's lyre;Where rot the walls by Sidon raised?And where the long-lost hulls of Tyre?VIIAnd all men listen in their turnTo the same Sirens; greed of Gain—Love—Hate—Revenge—the lust of Power—And craze o'er fellow-man to reign—Ambition's lure—these intertwineLike links that form an endless chain.VIIISince Power is but the instant's clutchAnd naught so trivial as a Name,What crucial proof shall fix men's worthOn lasting tablets write their claim;So that their memories may fillA niche within the walls of Fame?IXThe test is not of Birth nor RaceSince each is worthy of his hire;It rests in what men do for menUplifted by the soul's desire,To tread Life's fiery furnacesAnd save their brothers from the fire.XAnd ranging far and searching deepHowever though the annals be,We find but one nigh faultless manThere was none other such as He;The Jew who taught and practiced LoveThe man who walked by Galilee.
The Project Gutenberg eBook ofCosmosThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: CosmosCreator: Ernest McGaffeyRelease date: August 6, 2015 [eBook #49631]Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Al Haines*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COSMOS ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: CosmosCreator: Ernest McGaffeyRelease date: August 6, 2015 [eBook #49631]Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Al Haines
Title: Cosmos
Creator: Ernest McGaffey
Creator: Ernest McGaffey
Release date: August 6, 2015 [eBook #49631]
Language: English
Credits: Produced by Al Haines
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COSMOS ***
[image]Ernest McGaffey
[image]Ernest McGaffey
[image]
[image]
Ernest McGaffey
COSMOSBy ERNEST McGAFFEYThe Philosopher PressWausau Wisconsin
COSMOS
By ERNEST McGAFFEY
The Philosopher PressWausau Wisconsin
COPYRIGHTED 1903BY ERNEST McGAFFEY
COPYRIGHTED 1903BY ERNEST McGAFFEY
DEDICATED TOCARTER H. HARRISONOF CHICAGO
DEDICATED TOCARTER H. HARRISONOF CHICAGO
COSMOS
ONE
IGo search the æons an you willWhere withered leaves of Doubt are whirled,And who hath solved this riddle, Life,Or Death—that moves with sails unfurled,Beyond the straining eyes of manMarooned upon an unknown world.IINor tongue hath told, nor vision caughtThat paradox, Primeval Cause;Each age has had some parableEach age succeeding marked the flaws;While shifted, with the calendar,What men have termed generic laws.IIICreed after creed behold them nowLike Etna on Vesuvius piled;Till, scaled to earth by drifting sandsThey lie in later days reviled,And pushed aside by Time's rough handAs toys are, by a peevish child.IVFor Priest-made doctrine reads grotesque.And earthly worship is but dross;Whether it be your Brahm of IndOr squat and hideous Chinese Joss;Or Jove, aloft on cloud-capped throneOr the pale Christ upon his cross.VWhy question still the blindfold gravesOr pluck the veil of Isis dread?Over Death's icy mysteryA pall immutable is spread;And never tear-wrung agonyShall move the lips we loved—once dead.VIWhy grope in labyrinthian maze?Why palter thus with doubt and fear?The Past is but the mollusc printThe Future looms, a barrier sheer;The Present centers in To-dayThe hope for men is Now, and Here.VIIBelieve no scientific cantThat man descended from the ape;Gorilla-like once beat his breastAnd grew at last to human shape,To watch the flocks, and till the fields,Harry the seas and bruise the grape.VIIIFor though enrobed in savage skinsAnd though his forehead backward ran,The brute was not all-dominantSome spark revealed a Primal plan;His brain was coupled with his willThe hairy mammal still was man.IXAnd ever as the cycles wanedHe came and went, he rose and fell,At times transformed, as butterfliesThat rise from chrysalis in the cell;And oft through hate and ignoranceSunk downward deep as fabled Hell.XBut through it all, and with it allHow-e'er the upward trending veers,He fought his fight against great oddsHe peopled ice-bound hemispheres,Endured the sweltering Torrid ZonesAnd stamped his impress on the years.
I
I
Go search the æons an you willWhere withered leaves of Doubt are whirled,And who hath solved this riddle, Life,Or Death—that moves with sails unfurled,Beyond the straining eyes of manMarooned upon an unknown world.
Go search the æons an you will
Where withered leaves of Doubt are whirled,
And who hath solved this riddle, Life,
Or Death—that moves with sails unfurled,
Beyond the straining eyes of man
Marooned upon an unknown world.
II
II
Nor tongue hath told, nor vision caughtThat paradox, Primeval Cause;Each age has had some parableEach age succeeding marked the flaws;While shifted, with the calendar,What men have termed generic laws.
Nor tongue hath told, nor vision caught
That paradox, Primeval Cause;
Each age has had some parable
Each age succeeding marked the flaws;
While shifted, with the calendar,
What men have termed generic laws.
III
III
Creed after creed behold them nowLike Etna on Vesuvius piled;Till, scaled to earth by drifting sandsThey lie in later days reviled,And pushed aside by Time's rough handAs toys are, by a peevish child.
Creed after creed behold them now
Like Etna on Vesuvius piled;
Till, scaled to earth by drifting sands
They lie in later days reviled,
And pushed aside by Time's rough hand
As toys are, by a peevish child.
IV
IV
For Priest-made doctrine reads grotesque.And earthly worship is but dross;Whether it be your Brahm of IndOr squat and hideous Chinese Joss;Or Jove, aloft on cloud-capped throneOr the pale Christ upon his cross.
For Priest-made doctrine reads grotesque.
And earthly worship is but dross;
Whether it be your Brahm of Ind
Or squat and hideous Chinese Joss;
Or Jove, aloft on cloud-capped throne
Or the pale Christ upon his cross.
V
V
Why question still the blindfold gravesOr pluck the veil of Isis dread?Over Death's icy mysteryA pall immutable is spread;And never tear-wrung agonyShall move the lips we loved—once dead.
Why question still the blindfold graves
Or pluck the veil of Isis dread?
Over Death's icy mystery
A pall immutable is spread;
And never tear-wrung agony
Shall move the lips we loved—once dead.
VI
VI
Why grope in labyrinthian maze?Why palter thus with doubt and fear?The Past is but the mollusc printThe Future looms, a barrier sheer;The Present centers in To-dayThe hope for men is Now, and Here.
Why grope in labyrinthian maze?
Why palter thus with doubt and fear?
The Past is but the mollusc print
The Future looms, a barrier sheer;
The Present centers in To-day
The hope for men is Now, and Here.
VII
VII
Believe no scientific cantThat man descended from the ape;Gorilla-like once beat his breastAnd grew at last to human shape,To watch the flocks, and till the fields,Harry the seas and bruise the grape.
Believe no scientific cant
That man descended from the ape;
Gorilla-like once beat his breast
And grew at last to human shape,
To watch the flocks, and till the fields,
Harry the seas and bruise the grape.
VIII
VIII
For though enrobed in savage skinsAnd though his forehead backward ran,The brute was not all-dominantSome spark revealed a Primal plan;His brain was coupled with his willThe hairy mammal still was man.
For though enrobed in savage skins
And though his forehead backward ran,
The brute was not all-dominant
Some spark revealed a Primal plan;
His brain was coupled with his will
The hairy mammal still was man.
IX
IX
And ever as the cycles wanedHe came and went, he rose and fell,At times transformed, as butterfliesThat rise from chrysalis in the cell;And oft through hate and ignoranceSunk downward deep as fabled Hell.
And ever as the cycles waned
He came and went, he rose and fell,
At times transformed, as butterflies
That rise from chrysalis in the cell;
And oft through hate and ignorance
Sunk downward deep as fabled Hell.
X
X
But through it all, and with it allHow-e'er the upward trending veers,He fought his fight against great oddsHe peopled ice-bound hemispheres,Endured the sweltering Torrid ZonesAnd stamped his impress on the years.
But through it all, and with it all
How-e'er the upward trending veers,
He fought his fight against great odds
He peopled ice-bound hemispheres,
Endured the sweltering Torrid Zones
And stamped his impress on the years.
TWO
IWhat romance hast thy childhood knownOf God-made world in seven days?Of woven sands and swaying grassAnd bird and beast in forest ways,Of panoramas vast unrolledBefore a stern Creator's gaze?IIOf rivers ribboning the vales;Of plains that stretched in smoothness down,And unborn seasons yet to beSpring's violet banks, and Autumn's brown;Bright Summer, mistress of the sun,And grey-beard Winter's boreal crown.IIIAnd when at length the scheme completeUnfolded to the Maker's sight,How He, Almighty and divineSaid in his power, "Let there be light!"Gave sun and moon, and sowed the starsAlong the furrows of the night!IVLo! every nation has its taleAnd every people, how they be;Whether where Southern zephyrs looseThe blooms from off the tamarind tree,Or where the six-month seasons bideAround the cloistered Polar sea.VAnd Science with unyielding scalesWeighs each and all of varied styles;And like a Goddess molds decreesOblivious both to tears or smiles;Points out the error, reads the ruleAnd God with Nature reconciles.VIBut who shall sift the false and true?What Oracle the rule enforce?Not man-made creed, nor man-learned lawIs wise to fathom Nature's course;No sea is deeper than its bedNo stream is higher than its source.VIIVain hope to solve the Infinite!Mere words to babble, when they say"Thus Science teaches,"—"thus our God"—Thus this or that—what of it, pray?The marvel overlapping all—Go ask the Sphynx of Yesterday.VIIIWe know the All, and nothing know;The great we ken as well as least;But sum it all when we have saidThat man is different from the beast;And spite of all TheologyThe Pagan's equal to the Priest.IXAnd globes will lapse, and suns expire;As stars have fallen, worlds can change;Forever shall the centuries rollAnd roving planets tireless range;And Life be masked in secrecyWith Death, as ever, passing strange.XAnd trow not, Mortal, in thy prideThat where yon beetling column standsRests Permanence; 'twill disappearTo sink in marsh or barren lands,Where bitterns boom, or sunlight staresAcross the immemorial sands.
I
I
What romance hast thy childhood knownOf God-made world in seven days?Of woven sands and swaying grassAnd bird and beast in forest ways,Of panoramas vast unrolledBefore a stern Creator's gaze?
What romance hast thy childhood known
Of God-made world in seven days?
Of woven sands and swaying grass
And bird and beast in forest ways,
Of panoramas vast unrolled
Before a stern Creator's gaze?
II
II
Of rivers ribboning the vales;Of plains that stretched in smoothness down,And unborn seasons yet to beSpring's violet banks, and Autumn's brown;Bright Summer, mistress of the sun,And grey-beard Winter's boreal crown.
Of rivers ribboning the vales;
Of plains that stretched in smoothness down,
And unborn seasons yet to be
Spring's violet banks, and Autumn's brown;
Bright Summer, mistress of the sun,
And grey-beard Winter's boreal crown.
III
III
And when at length the scheme completeUnfolded to the Maker's sight,How He, Almighty and divineSaid in his power, "Let there be light!"Gave sun and moon, and sowed the starsAlong the furrows of the night!
And when at length the scheme complete
Unfolded to the Maker's sight,
How He, Almighty and divine
Said in his power, "Let there be light!"
Gave sun and moon, and sowed the stars
Along the furrows of the night!
IV
IV
Lo! every nation has its taleAnd every people, how they be;Whether where Southern zephyrs looseThe blooms from off the tamarind tree,Or where the six-month seasons bideAround the cloistered Polar sea.
Lo! every nation has its tale
And every people, how they be;
Whether where Southern zephyrs loose
The blooms from off the tamarind tree,
Or where the six-month seasons bide
Around the cloistered Polar sea.
V
V
And Science with unyielding scalesWeighs each and all of varied styles;And like a Goddess molds decreesOblivious both to tears or smiles;Points out the error, reads the ruleAnd God with Nature reconciles.
And Science with unyielding scales
Weighs each and all of varied styles;
And like a Goddess molds decrees
Oblivious both to tears or smiles;
Points out the error, reads the rule
And God with Nature reconciles.
VI
VI
But who shall sift the false and true?What Oracle the rule enforce?Not man-made creed, nor man-learned lawIs wise to fathom Nature's course;No sea is deeper than its bedNo stream is higher than its source.
But who shall sift the false and true?
What Oracle the rule enforce?
Not man-made creed, nor man-learned law
Is wise to fathom Nature's course;
No sea is deeper than its bed
No stream is higher than its source.
VII
VII
Vain hope to solve the Infinite!Mere words to babble, when they say"Thus Science teaches,"—"thus our God"—Thus this or that—what of it, pray?The marvel overlapping all—Go ask the Sphynx of Yesterday.
Vain hope to solve the Infinite!
Mere words to babble, when they say
"Thus Science teaches,"—"thus our God"—
Thus this or that—what of it, pray?
The marvel overlapping all—
Go ask the Sphynx of Yesterday.
VIII
VIII
We know the All, and nothing know;The great we ken as well as least;But sum it all when we have saidThat man is different from the beast;And spite of all TheologyThe Pagan's equal to the Priest.
We know the All, and nothing know;
The great we ken as well as least;
But sum it all when we have said
That man is different from the beast;
And spite of all Theology
The Pagan's equal to the Priest.
IX
IX
And globes will lapse, and suns expire;As stars have fallen, worlds can change;Forever shall the centuries rollAnd roving planets tireless range;And Life be masked in secrecyWith Death, as ever, passing strange.
And globes will lapse, and suns expire;
As stars have fallen, worlds can change;
Forever shall the centuries roll
And roving planets tireless range;
And Life be masked in secrecy
With Death, as ever, passing strange.
X
X
And trow not, Mortal, in thy prideThat where yon beetling column standsRests Permanence; 'twill disappearTo sink in marsh or barren lands,Where bitterns boom, or sunlight staresAcross the immemorial sands.
And trow not, Mortal, in thy pride
That where yon beetling column stands
Rests Permanence; 'twill disappear
To sink in marsh or barren lands,
Where bitterns boom, or sunlight stares
Across the immemorial sands.
THREE
IOf old when man to being cameHe fashioned Gods of brittle bone;Bowed down to wooden fetichesOr worshipped idols carved from stone;And, locked in Superstition's graspFor sacrifice made lives atone.IIAnd Fear was then the Higher LawAnd fleshly joys the aftermath;He knew no screed of RighteousnessAnd trod no straight and narrow path;His Deity a terror wasA Demon winged with might and wrath.IIIAnd then where Nilus dipped his feetBy Egypt sands, rose temples tallTo Isis and Osiris—Ptah—And many a God foredoomed to fall;Where sank the shades of Pharaoh's reign?Whence have they vanished, one and all?IVBut whiles to other years advancedAnd now by cosmic marvels won,Men sought remote Pelagian shoresWhere breeze and spray their tapestry spun,To wait the coming of the dayAnd there adore the rising sun.VThis passed; the Gods of Greece and RomeIn splendor thronged the earth and skies;Jove, with the thunders in his handApollo of the star-lit eyes,Aurora, Priestess of the DawnAnd Pan of haunting melodies,—VIAnd countless more; their temples fairWhere reverent Pagans curved the knee,Mid sweet, perpetual summer stoodWhile murmured as the murmuring bee,The lulling sweep of listless brineBeside the green Ægean sea.VIIAnd merged in island-wooded calmsBy towering groves of ancient oak,where Triton's charging cavalryAgainst the cliffs of Britain broke,With horrid rite of human bloodThe Celtic Druids moved and spoke.VIIIStill wheeled the cycles; still did menWith new religions make them wise;Mahomet rose magnificentAs rainbow in the eastern skies;With Seven Heavens of Koran taughtAnd Houris with the sloe-black eyes.IXBrahm, Baal, Dagon, Moloch, Thor,And legions more had long sufficed;Heavens in turn with bliss diverseAnd Hells with ebon glaciers iced;And latest on celestial scrollsThe prophets wrote the name of Christ.XWe need them not; No! each and allWill load Tradition's dusty shelf;As shattered Idols, put awayTo lie forgot like broken delf;Humanity is over all!And Man's redemption in himself.
I
I
Of old when man to being cameHe fashioned Gods of brittle bone;Bowed down to wooden fetichesOr worshipped idols carved from stone;And, locked in Superstition's graspFor sacrifice made lives atone.
Of old when man to being came
He fashioned Gods of brittle bone;
Bowed down to wooden fetiches
Or worshipped idols carved from stone;
And, locked in Superstition's grasp
For sacrifice made lives atone.
II
II
And Fear was then the Higher LawAnd fleshly joys the aftermath;He knew no screed of RighteousnessAnd trod no straight and narrow path;His Deity a terror wasA Demon winged with might and wrath.
And Fear was then the Higher Law
And fleshly joys the aftermath;
He knew no screed of Righteousness
And trod no straight and narrow path;
His Deity a terror was
A Demon winged with might and wrath.
III
III
And then where Nilus dipped his feetBy Egypt sands, rose temples tallTo Isis and Osiris—Ptah—And many a God foredoomed to fall;Where sank the shades of Pharaoh's reign?Whence have they vanished, one and all?
And then where Nilus dipped his feet
By Egypt sands, rose temples tall
To Isis and Osiris—Ptah—
And many a God foredoomed to fall;
Where sank the shades of Pharaoh's reign?
Whence have they vanished, one and all?
IV
IV
But whiles to other years advancedAnd now by cosmic marvels won,Men sought remote Pelagian shoresWhere breeze and spray their tapestry spun,To wait the coming of the dayAnd there adore the rising sun.
But whiles to other years advanced
And now by cosmic marvels won,
Men sought remote Pelagian shores
Where breeze and spray their tapestry spun,
To wait the coming of the day
And there adore the rising sun.
V
V
This passed; the Gods of Greece and RomeIn splendor thronged the earth and skies;Jove, with the thunders in his handApollo of the star-lit eyes,Aurora, Priestess of the DawnAnd Pan of haunting melodies,—
This passed; the Gods of Greece and Rome
In splendor thronged the earth and skies;
Jove, with the thunders in his hand
Apollo of the star-lit eyes,
Aurora, Priestess of the Dawn
And Pan of haunting melodies,—
VI
VI
And countless more; their temples fairWhere reverent Pagans curved the knee,Mid sweet, perpetual summer stoodWhile murmured as the murmuring bee,The lulling sweep of listless brineBeside the green Ægean sea.
And countless more; their temples fair
Where reverent Pagans curved the knee,
Mid sweet, perpetual summer stood
While murmured as the murmuring bee,
The lulling sweep of listless brine
Beside the green Ægean sea.
VII
VII
And merged in island-wooded calmsBy towering groves of ancient oak,where Triton's charging cavalryAgainst the cliffs of Britain broke,With horrid rite of human bloodThe Celtic Druids moved and spoke.
And merged in island-wooded calms
By towering groves of ancient oak,
where Triton's charging cavalry
Against the cliffs of Britain broke,
With horrid rite of human blood
The Celtic Druids moved and spoke.
VIII
VIII
Still wheeled the cycles; still did menWith new religions make them wise;Mahomet rose magnificentAs rainbow in the eastern skies;With Seven Heavens of Koran taughtAnd Houris with the sloe-black eyes.
Still wheeled the cycles; still did men
With new religions make them wise;
Mahomet rose magnificent
As rainbow in the eastern skies;
With Seven Heavens of Koran taught
And Houris with the sloe-black eyes.
IX
IX
Brahm, Baal, Dagon, Moloch, Thor,And legions more had long sufficed;Heavens in turn with bliss diverseAnd Hells with ebon glaciers iced;And latest on celestial scrollsThe prophets wrote the name of Christ.
Brahm, Baal, Dagon, Moloch, Thor,
And legions more had long sufficed;
Heavens in turn with bliss diverse
And Hells with ebon glaciers iced;
And latest on celestial scrolls
The prophets wrote the name of Christ.
X
X
We need them not; No! each and allWill load Tradition's dusty shelf;As shattered Idols, put awayTo lie forgot like broken delf;Humanity is over all!And Man's redemption in himself.
We need them not; No! each and all
Will load Tradition's dusty shelf;
As shattered Idols, put away
To lie forgot like broken delf;
Humanity is over all!
And Man's redemption in himself.
FOUR
IThe morning stars together sangSo runs the story, in that time,When groves were loud with melodyAnd ripples danced to liquid rhyme;Far in the embryonic spheresBefore the earth was in her prime.IIThen first the feline-padded galesUnleashed and prowling journeyed free,To purr amid the cowering grassOr roar in stormy jubilee,Or, joining in with Ocean, growlA hoarse duet of wind and sea.IIIAnd where by meadowy rushes dankThe yellow sunbeams thick were sown,And brooks flowed down through April waysO'er pebbled bar and shingly stone,There first welled up in gurgling strainThe lisping current's monotone.IVAnd oft was heard, in forest aislesWhere rocking trees of leaves were thinned,And drear November wandered lornWith wild wide eyes and hair unpinned,A wailing harp of minor chordsStruck by the strong hands of the wind.VAnd Man, through imitative art,With clumsy tool and method crude,Copied these echoes as he mightTo soothe him in his solitude;And when that other sound was dumbHis reed-notes quavered music rude.VIAnd as the gentler graces cameTo vivify barbaric night,So Poesy, with singing Lyre,Descended from Parnassian height,With constellations aureoledHer raiment wove of flowing light.VIIAnd in Man's heart a thrill leaped up;His eye was lit by prophet gleams;He sought the truth of When and HowHe voiced the lyrics of the streams;His beard was tossed, his locks were grayHis soul beneath the spell of dreams.VIIIThus numbers came; and Poets livedTo chant the glories of the Race;Their rhyme on limp papyrus rollOr etched on crumbling pillar's base,Has long outlived the Kings they sungAnd conquered even Time and Space.IXAye! vain the vaunt of Heroes; vainThe deeds that once were thought sublime;And vain your Monarchs, briefly stagedIn tinselled royal pantomime;Their House was builded on the sandsAnd they unworth a random rhyme.XVain are the works of man; most vainHis bubbled Glory, Aye! or Fame;More fragile than a last-year's leafUnnoticed of the sunset's flame;And naught endures unless it standsLinked with a deathless Poet's name.
I
I
The morning stars together sangSo runs the story, in that time,When groves were loud with melodyAnd ripples danced to liquid rhyme;Far in the embryonic spheresBefore the earth was in her prime.
The morning stars together sang
So runs the story, in that time,
When groves were loud with melody
And ripples danced to liquid rhyme;
Far in the embryonic spheres
Before the earth was in her prime.
II
II
Then first the feline-padded galesUnleashed and prowling journeyed free,To purr amid the cowering grassOr roar in stormy jubilee,Or, joining in with Ocean, growlA hoarse duet of wind and sea.
Then first the feline-padded gales
Unleashed and prowling journeyed free,
To purr amid the cowering grass
Or roar in stormy jubilee,
Or, joining in with Ocean, growl
A hoarse duet of wind and sea.
III
III
And where by meadowy rushes dankThe yellow sunbeams thick were sown,And brooks flowed down through April waysO'er pebbled bar and shingly stone,There first welled up in gurgling strainThe lisping current's monotone.
And where by meadowy rushes dank
The yellow sunbeams thick were sown,
And brooks flowed down through April ways
O'er pebbled bar and shingly stone,
There first welled up in gurgling strain
The lisping current's monotone.
IV
IV
And oft was heard, in forest aislesWhere rocking trees of leaves were thinned,And drear November wandered lornWith wild wide eyes and hair unpinned,A wailing harp of minor chordsStruck by the strong hands of the wind.
And oft was heard, in forest aisles
Where rocking trees of leaves were thinned,
And drear November wandered lorn
With wild wide eyes and hair unpinned,
A wailing harp of minor chords
Struck by the strong hands of the wind.
V
V
And Man, through imitative art,With clumsy tool and method crude,Copied these echoes as he mightTo soothe him in his solitude;And when that other sound was dumbHis reed-notes quavered music rude.
And Man, through imitative art,
With clumsy tool and method crude,
Copied these echoes as he might
To soothe him in his solitude;
And when that other sound was dumb
His reed-notes quavered music rude.
VI
VI
And as the gentler graces cameTo vivify barbaric night,So Poesy, with singing Lyre,Descended from Parnassian height,With constellations aureoledHer raiment wove of flowing light.
And as the gentler graces came
To vivify barbaric night,
So Poesy, with singing Lyre,
Descended from Parnassian height,
With constellations aureoled
Her raiment wove of flowing light.
VII
VII
And in Man's heart a thrill leaped up;His eye was lit by prophet gleams;He sought the truth of When and HowHe voiced the lyrics of the streams;His beard was tossed, his locks were grayHis soul beneath the spell of dreams.
And in Man's heart a thrill leaped up;
His eye was lit by prophet gleams;
He sought the truth of When and How
He voiced the lyrics of the streams;
His beard was tossed, his locks were gray
His soul beneath the spell of dreams.
VIII
VIII
Thus numbers came; and Poets livedTo chant the glories of the Race;Their rhyme on limp papyrus rollOr etched on crumbling pillar's base,Has long outlived the Kings they sungAnd conquered even Time and Space.
Thus numbers came; and Poets lived
To chant the glories of the Race;
Their rhyme on limp papyrus roll
Or etched on crumbling pillar's base,
Has long outlived the Kings they sung
And conquered even Time and Space.
IX
IX
Aye! vain the vaunt of Heroes; vainThe deeds that once were thought sublime;And vain your Monarchs, briefly stagedIn tinselled royal pantomime;Their House was builded on the sandsAnd they unworth a random rhyme.
Aye! vain the vaunt of Heroes; vain
The deeds that once were thought sublime;
And vain your Monarchs, briefly staged
In tinselled royal pantomime;
Their House was builded on the sands
And they unworth a random rhyme.
X
X
Vain are the works of man; most vainHis bubbled Glory, Aye! or Fame;More fragile than a last-year's leafUnnoticed of the sunset's flame;And naught endures unless it standsLinked with a deathless Poet's name.
Vain are the works of man; most vain
His bubbled Glory, Aye! or Fame;
More fragile than a last-year's leaf
Unnoticed of the sunset's flame;
And naught endures unless it stands
Linked with a deathless Poet's name.
FIVE
IHow flourished then the lesser artsAs man to manhood slowly grew?With blackened stick from ruddy firesThat on his cave reflections threw,He scrawled the rock which sheltered himAnd thus the first rude picture drew.IIAnd catching hints from Nature's loreHe squeezed his colors from the clay;Steeped leaf and bark, and dyed the skinsThat round about his dwelling lay;And, urged by vanity, his cheeksWere daubed with dash of pigments gay.IIISo, ever as the seasons diedHis mind expanded with his will;He saw the dry leaves touched with goldAnd grass grow tawny on the hill;Found etchings on the ruffled streamsAnd marked the sunset's hectic thrill.IVAnd dreaming thus, with defter skillHe fast employed his nights and days,Spun magic webs of chequered lightsAnd limned October's purple haze;While women's faces from his brushFired, like wine, the se'er's gaze.VUntil at last was handed downBeyond the treasure-trove of Greece,Beyond the strain that Sappho sungAnd reveries of the Golden Fleece,The art of Titian, Rubens, Thal,And Tintoretto's masterpiece.VIThus, too, as man with curious eyeHad noted outline, curve, and form,In toppling surge or lofty cragIn woman's bosom beating warm,In cloudy shapes revealed on highIntaglios of the wind and storm,—VIIHe modelled from the plastic loam;On shell and boulder graved a sign;Chiselled the stately obelisksWith hieroglyphics, line on line;Colossal wrought his haughty KingsOr metal-traced the clambering vine.VIIIAnd many an image was his workAnd many a statuette and bust;Some that remain, but most that lieAs shards to outer darkness thrust;These buried under coral sandsThose cloaked beneath forgotten dust.IXUpon the lonely washes that stretchWhere the Egyptian rivers croon,And floats above the PyramidsOn tropic nights the lifeless moon,The mightiest waits,—the brooding Sphynx—Half-lion and half Daemon hewn.XSo Sculpture, pierced in mountain sidesOr dragged from Mythologic seas,Still holds a sway; and worlds will bowIn homage yet to such as these—The noble bronze by Phidias wrought,The marbles of Praxiteles.
I
I
How flourished then the lesser artsAs man to manhood slowly grew?With blackened stick from ruddy firesThat on his cave reflections threw,He scrawled the rock which sheltered himAnd thus the first rude picture drew.
How flourished then the lesser arts
As man to manhood slowly grew?
With blackened stick from ruddy fires
That on his cave reflections threw,
He scrawled the rock which sheltered him
And thus the first rude picture drew.
II
II
And catching hints from Nature's loreHe squeezed his colors from the clay;Steeped leaf and bark, and dyed the skinsThat round about his dwelling lay;And, urged by vanity, his cheeksWere daubed with dash of pigments gay.
And catching hints from Nature's lore
He squeezed his colors from the clay;
Steeped leaf and bark, and dyed the skins
That round about his dwelling lay;
And, urged by vanity, his cheeks
Were daubed with dash of pigments gay.
III
III
So, ever as the seasons diedHis mind expanded with his will;He saw the dry leaves touched with goldAnd grass grow tawny on the hill;Found etchings on the ruffled streamsAnd marked the sunset's hectic thrill.
So, ever as the seasons died
His mind expanded with his will;
He saw the dry leaves touched with gold
And grass grow tawny on the hill;
Found etchings on the ruffled streams
And marked the sunset's hectic thrill.
IV
IV
And dreaming thus, with defter skillHe fast employed his nights and days,Spun magic webs of chequered lightsAnd limned October's purple haze;While women's faces from his brushFired, like wine, the se'er's gaze.
And dreaming thus, with defter skill
He fast employed his nights and days,
Spun magic webs of chequered lights
And limned October's purple haze;
While women's faces from his brush
Fired, like wine, the se'er's gaze.
V
V
Until at last was handed downBeyond the treasure-trove of Greece,Beyond the strain that Sappho sungAnd reveries of the Golden Fleece,The art of Titian, Rubens, Thal,And Tintoretto's masterpiece.
Until at last was handed down
Beyond the treasure-trove of Greece,
Beyond the strain that Sappho sung
And reveries of the Golden Fleece,
The art of Titian, Rubens, Thal,
And Tintoretto's masterpiece.
VI
VI
Thus, too, as man with curious eyeHad noted outline, curve, and form,In toppling surge or lofty cragIn woman's bosom beating warm,In cloudy shapes revealed on highIntaglios of the wind and storm,—
Thus, too, as man with curious eye
Had noted outline, curve, and form,
In toppling surge or lofty crag
In woman's bosom beating warm,
In cloudy shapes revealed on high
Intaglios of the wind and storm,—
VII
VII
He modelled from the plastic loam;On shell and boulder graved a sign;Chiselled the stately obelisksWith hieroglyphics, line on line;Colossal wrought his haughty KingsOr metal-traced the clambering vine.
He modelled from the plastic loam;
On shell and boulder graved a sign;
Chiselled the stately obelisks
With hieroglyphics, line on line;
Colossal wrought his haughty Kings
Or metal-traced the clambering vine.
VIII
VIII
And many an image was his workAnd many a statuette and bust;Some that remain, but most that lieAs shards to outer darkness thrust;These buried under coral sandsThose cloaked beneath forgotten dust.
And many an image was his work
And many a statuette and bust;
Some that remain, but most that lie
As shards to outer darkness thrust;
These buried under coral sands
Those cloaked beneath forgotten dust.
IX
IX
Upon the lonely washes that stretchWhere the Egyptian rivers croon,And floats above the PyramidsOn tropic nights the lifeless moon,The mightiest waits,—the brooding Sphynx—Half-lion and half Daemon hewn.
Upon the lonely washes that stretch
Where the Egyptian rivers croon,
And floats above the Pyramids
On tropic nights the lifeless moon,
The mightiest waits,—the brooding Sphynx—
Half-lion and half Daemon hewn.
X
X
So Sculpture, pierced in mountain sidesOr dragged from Mythologic seas,Still holds a sway; and worlds will bowIn homage yet to such as these—The noble bronze by Phidias wrought,The marbles of Praxiteles.
So Sculpture, pierced in mountain sides
Or dragged from Mythologic seas,
Still holds a sway; and worlds will bow
In homage yet to such as these—
The noble bronze by Phidias wrought,
The marbles of Praxiteles.
SIX
ITo those who for their country bleedTo those who die for freedom's sake,All Hail! for them the Immortal dawnsIn waves of lilied silver break;For them in dusky-templed nightThe eternal stars a halo make.IIIn History's tome their chronicleAn ever-living page shall be;The souls who flashed like sabers drawnThe men who died to make men free;Their flag in every land has flownTheir sails have whitened every sea.IIIOn gallows high they met their doomOr breasted straight the serried spearsOf Tyranny; in dungeons dampScarred on the stones their name appears;For them the flower of MemoryShall blossom, watered by our tears.IVBut Conquest, Glory, transient Fame,What baubles these to struggle for,When draped in sulphurous films upriseThe cannon-throated fiends of War!What childish trumpery cheap as this—The trophies of a Conqueror?VHow many an army marches forthWith bugle-note or battle-hymn,To drench the soil in human goreAnd multiply Golgothas grim;And all for what? a Ruler's piqueReligion's call, or Harlot's whim.VIAnd ghastliest far among them allWhere torn and stained the thirsty sodWith carnage reeks—where standards fly,And horses gallop, iron-shod,Are those remorseless mockeriesThe wars they wage in name of God.VIIIVague, dim and vague, and noiselessly,The Warrior's triumphs fade like haze;And building winds have heaped the sandsO'er monuments of martial days;While Legend throws a flickering gleamWhere the tall Trojan towers blaze.VIIIYea! whether sought for Woman's faceOr, Conquest-seeking, seaward poured,Or at the beck of Holy ChurchWar still shall be the thing abhorred;And they who by the sword would liveShall surely perish by the sword.IXYet whether at ThermopylæWhere battled the intrepid Greek,Or Waterloo—their quarry stillThe red-eyed ravening vultures seek;Where prowl the jackal and the foxAnd the swart raven whets his beak.XAnd somewhere, though by Alien seasThe tide of Hate unceasing frets;For dawn to dusk, and dusk to dawnThe red sun rises, no, nor sets,Save where the wraith of War is seenAbove her glittering bayonets.
I
I
To those who for their country bleedTo those who die for freedom's sake,All Hail! for them the Immortal dawnsIn waves of lilied silver break;For them in dusky-templed nightThe eternal stars a halo make.
To those who for their country bleed
To those who die for freedom's sake,
All Hail! for them the Immortal dawns
In waves of lilied silver break;
For them in dusky-templed night
The eternal stars a halo make.
II
II
In History's tome their chronicleAn ever-living page shall be;The souls who flashed like sabers drawnThe men who died to make men free;Their flag in every land has flownTheir sails have whitened every sea.
In History's tome their chronicle
An ever-living page shall be;
The souls who flashed like sabers drawn
The men who died to make men free;
Their flag in every land has flown
Their sails have whitened every sea.
III
III
On gallows high they met their doomOr breasted straight the serried spearsOf Tyranny; in dungeons dampScarred on the stones their name appears;For them the flower of MemoryShall blossom, watered by our tears.
On gallows high they met their doom
Or breasted straight the serried spears
Of Tyranny; in dungeons damp
Scarred on the stones their name appears;
For them the flower of Memory
Shall blossom, watered by our tears.
IV
IV
But Conquest, Glory, transient Fame,What baubles these to struggle for,When draped in sulphurous films upriseThe cannon-throated fiends of War!What childish trumpery cheap as this—The trophies of a Conqueror?
But Conquest, Glory, transient Fame,
What baubles these to struggle for,
When draped in sulphurous films uprise
The cannon-throated fiends of War!
What childish trumpery cheap as this—
The trophies of a Conqueror?
V
V
How many an army marches forthWith bugle-note or battle-hymn,To drench the soil in human goreAnd multiply Golgothas grim;And all for what? a Ruler's piqueReligion's call, or Harlot's whim.
How many an army marches forth
With bugle-note or battle-hymn,
To drench the soil in human gore
And multiply Golgothas grim;
And all for what? a Ruler's pique
Religion's call, or Harlot's whim.
VI
VI
And ghastliest far among them allWhere torn and stained the thirsty sodWith carnage reeks—where standards fly,And horses gallop, iron-shod,Are those remorseless mockeriesThe wars they wage in name of God.
And ghastliest far among them all
Where torn and stained the thirsty sod
With carnage reeks—where standards fly,
And horses gallop, iron-shod,
Are those remorseless mockeries
The wars they wage in name of God.
VIII
VIII
Vague, dim and vague, and noiselessly,The Warrior's triumphs fade like haze;And building winds have heaped the sandsO'er monuments of martial days;While Legend throws a flickering gleamWhere the tall Trojan towers blaze.
Vague, dim and vague, and noiselessly,
The Warrior's triumphs fade like haze;
And building winds have heaped the sands
O'er monuments of martial days;
While Legend throws a flickering gleam
Where the tall Trojan towers blaze.
VIII
VIII
Yea! whether sought for Woman's faceOr, Conquest-seeking, seaward poured,Or at the beck of Holy ChurchWar still shall be the thing abhorred;And they who by the sword would liveShall surely perish by the sword.
Yea! whether sought for Woman's face
Or, Conquest-seeking, seaward poured,
Or at the beck of Holy Church
War still shall be the thing abhorred;
And they who by the sword would live
Shall surely perish by the sword.
IX
IX
Yet whether at ThermopylæWhere battled the intrepid Greek,Or Waterloo—their quarry stillThe red-eyed ravening vultures seek;Where prowl the jackal and the foxAnd the swart raven whets his beak.
Yet whether at Thermopylæ
Where battled the intrepid Greek,
Or Waterloo—their quarry still
The red-eyed ravening vultures seek;
Where prowl the jackal and the fox
And the swart raven whets his beak.
X
X
And somewhere, though by Alien seasThe tide of Hate unceasing frets;For dawn to dusk, and dusk to dawnThe red sun rises, no, nor sets,Save where the wraith of War is seenAbove her glittering bayonets.
And somewhere, though by Alien seas
The tide of Hate unceasing frets;
For dawn to dusk, and dusk to dawn
The red sun rises, no, nor sets,
Save where the wraith of War is seen
Above her glittering bayonets.
SEVEN
IHow fared the body when the soulIn olden days had taken flight?Had passed as through a shutter slipsA trembling shaft of summer light!And all that once was Life's warm glowHad sudden changed to dreadful night!IIHow fared the mourners; how the Priest;How spoken his funereal theme?What dirges for the Heroic deadWhat flowers to soften death's extreme?Was Life to them a wayside InnDeath the beginning of a dream?IIIWe cannot know; except by talesCaught in the traveller's flying loom,Or carven granite friezes foundOr parchment penned in convent gloom;Or here and there, defying TimeSome long-dead Emperor's giant tomb.IVWhere tower the steep Egyptian conesBy couriers of the storm bestrid,Wrapped in his blackening cerementsSahura lies in shadow hid,While billowy sand-curves rise and dashLike surf, against his Pyramid.VAnd on the bald Norweyan shoresWhen Odin for the Viking came,A ship was launched, and on it placedWith solemn state, the Hero's frame;The torch applied, and sent to sea,A double burial,—wave and flame.VIAnd when the Hindu Prince lay prone—In final consecration direHis Hindu Princess followed onAnd climbed the blazing funeral pyre,To stand in living sacrificeTransfigured in her robes of fire.VIIWhere the red Indian of the PlainsTo the Great Spirit bowed his head,On pole-built scaffold, Eagle-plumed,The painted warrior laid his dead;Beneath, the favorite charger slainAnd by the Chief his weapons spread.VIIIWe clothe our dead in modish dressDust unto dust the Preacher saith,The church-bells toll, the organ peals,And mourners wait with ebbing breath;Oh! grave, this is thy mockery,The weird farce-comedy of Death.IXNay! burn the shell with simplest rites;Scatter its ashes to the skies;And on the stairways of the cloudsIn winding spirals let it rise;What needs the soul of mortal garbWhether in Hell or Paradise?XAye! lost and gone; what cares the corseWhen Death unfolds his sable wings,Whether it rest in wind-swept treeOr where the deep-sea echo rings?Be laid to sleep in Potter's FieldOr lone Iona's cairn of Kings?
I
I
How fared the body when the soulIn olden days had taken flight?Had passed as through a shutter slipsA trembling shaft of summer light!And all that once was Life's warm glowHad sudden changed to dreadful night!
How fared the body when the soul
In olden days had taken flight?
Had passed as through a shutter slips
A trembling shaft of summer light!
And all that once was Life's warm glow
Had sudden changed to dreadful night!
II
II
How fared the mourners; how the Priest;How spoken his funereal theme?What dirges for the Heroic deadWhat flowers to soften death's extreme?Was Life to them a wayside InnDeath the beginning of a dream?
How fared the mourners; how the Priest;
How spoken his funereal theme?
What dirges for the Heroic dead
What flowers to soften death's extreme?
Was Life to them a wayside Inn
Death the beginning of a dream?
III
III
We cannot know; except by talesCaught in the traveller's flying loom,Or carven granite friezes foundOr parchment penned in convent gloom;Or here and there, defying TimeSome long-dead Emperor's giant tomb.
We cannot know; except by tales
Caught in the traveller's flying loom,
Or carven granite friezes found
Or parchment penned in convent gloom;
Or here and there, defying Time
Some long-dead Emperor's giant tomb.
IV
IV
Where tower the steep Egyptian conesBy couriers of the storm bestrid,Wrapped in his blackening cerementsSahura lies in shadow hid,While billowy sand-curves rise and dashLike surf, against his Pyramid.
Where tower the steep Egyptian cones
By couriers of the storm bestrid,
Wrapped in his blackening cerements
Sahura lies in shadow hid,
While billowy sand-curves rise and dash
Like surf, against his Pyramid.
V
V
And on the bald Norweyan shoresWhen Odin for the Viking came,A ship was launched, and on it placedWith solemn state, the Hero's frame;The torch applied, and sent to sea,A double burial,—wave and flame.
And on the bald Norweyan shores
When Odin for the Viking came,
A ship was launched, and on it placed
With solemn state, the Hero's frame;
The torch applied, and sent to sea,
A double burial,—wave and flame.
VI
VI
And when the Hindu Prince lay prone—In final consecration direHis Hindu Princess followed onAnd climbed the blazing funeral pyre,To stand in living sacrificeTransfigured in her robes of fire.
And when the Hindu Prince lay prone—
In final consecration dire
His Hindu Princess followed on
And climbed the blazing funeral pyre,
To stand in living sacrifice
Transfigured in her robes of fire.
VII
VII
Where the red Indian of the PlainsTo the Great Spirit bowed his head,On pole-built scaffold, Eagle-plumed,The painted warrior laid his dead;Beneath, the favorite charger slainAnd by the Chief his weapons spread.
Where the red Indian of the Plains
To the Great Spirit bowed his head,
On pole-built scaffold, Eagle-plumed,
The painted warrior laid his dead;
Beneath, the favorite charger slain
And by the Chief his weapons spread.
VIII
VIII
We clothe our dead in modish dressDust unto dust the Preacher saith,The church-bells toll, the organ peals,And mourners wait with ebbing breath;Oh! grave, this is thy mockery,The weird farce-comedy of Death.
We clothe our dead in modish dress
Dust unto dust the Preacher saith,
The church-bells toll, the organ peals,
And mourners wait with ebbing breath;
Oh! grave, this is thy mockery,
The weird farce-comedy of Death.
IX
IX
Nay! burn the shell with simplest rites;Scatter its ashes to the skies;And on the stairways of the cloudsIn winding spirals let it rise;What needs the soul of mortal garbWhether in Hell or Paradise?
Nay! burn the shell with simplest rites;
Scatter its ashes to the skies;
And on the stairways of the clouds
In winding spirals let it rise;
What needs the soul of mortal garb
Whether in Hell or Paradise?
X
X
Aye! lost and gone; what cares the corseWhen Death unfolds his sable wings,Whether it rest in wind-swept treeOr where the deep-sea echo rings?Be laid to sleep in Potter's FieldOr lone Iona's cairn of Kings?
Aye! lost and gone; what cares the corse
When Death unfolds his sable wings,
Whether it rest in wind-swept tree
Or where the deep-sea echo rings?
Be laid to sleep in Potter's Field
Or lone Iona's cairn of Kings?
EIGHT
IAbove unsightly city roofsWhere smoky serpents trail the sky,Broods Commerce; in her factoriesA million clacking shuttles fly;Where, choked with lint, in sickly airThe little children droop and die.IIThe rattling clash of jarring wheelsAgainst the windows echoing beats;And when the pallid gas-jets flareWhere sombre night with twilight meets,Like flotsam on the stream of FateThe toiler's myriads crowd the streets.IIIWith hiving tumult to and froTrade's devotees, a hurrying mass,Through the long corridor of yearsIn due procession rise and pass;To earn their wage, to seek their goalAnd melt, like dew-drops on the grass.IVAnd here, within the age of GainOur forest-masted harbors shineWith shimmering fleets; and we go onTo climes afar of palm and vine,And in the warp of Traffic weaveA sinister and base design,VOf mild and hapless IslandersWho fall before our soldiers' aim;Of broken faith—of sophistries—Of sin, of blood-shed, and of shame;Oh! Commerce, Commerce, who shall tellThe crimes committed in thy name.VITurn, turn my Fancy, inland borneWhere Nature's solace shall not failTo ease the heart; view skyey seasWhere cloud armadas, sail on sail,Manned by the winds go warping downBelow the far horizon's trail.VIIAnd as the budding willows blowWhen March comes whirling past the lanes,With bird-note wild, and fifing windsAnd undertone of sibilant rains,On slopes where Winter's garment meltsBlue as the sea are violet stains.VIIIWhere cattle seek the shaded poolsAnd silence folds the sun-burned lands,Her auburn tresses backward flungMid-Summer, like to Ceres stands,Beside the fields of waving grainWith harvest-apples in her hands.IXAnd stealthily through winnowing duskI see the curling smoke ascend,Where lie the farms; and evermoreWhere hope, and health, and manhood blend;While stubble shorn and pastures bareProclaim the waning season's end.XAnd as beyond the naked hillsThe chill November sunset dies,And cloudward now a phalanx swimsWhere guttural honking fills the skies,Black-sculptured on approaching nightAnd southward bound, the wild-goose flies.
I
I
Above unsightly city roofsWhere smoky serpents trail the sky,Broods Commerce; in her factoriesA million clacking shuttles fly;Where, choked with lint, in sickly airThe little children droop and die.
Above unsightly city roofs
Where smoky serpents trail the sky,
Broods Commerce; in her factories
A million clacking shuttles fly;
Where, choked with lint, in sickly air
The little children droop and die.
II
II
The rattling clash of jarring wheelsAgainst the windows echoing beats;And when the pallid gas-jets flareWhere sombre night with twilight meets,Like flotsam on the stream of FateThe toiler's myriads crowd the streets.
The rattling clash of jarring wheels
Against the windows echoing beats;
And when the pallid gas-jets flare
Where sombre night with twilight meets,
Like flotsam on the stream of Fate
The toiler's myriads crowd the streets.
III
III
With hiving tumult to and froTrade's devotees, a hurrying mass,Through the long corridor of yearsIn due procession rise and pass;To earn their wage, to seek their goalAnd melt, like dew-drops on the grass.
With hiving tumult to and fro
Trade's devotees, a hurrying mass,
Through the long corridor of years
In due procession rise and pass;
To earn their wage, to seek their goal
And melt, like dew-drops on the grass.
IV
IV
And here, within the age of GainOur forest-masted harbors shineWith shimmering fleets; and we go onTo climes afar of palm and vine,And in the warp of Traffic weaveA sinister and base design,
And here, within the age of Gain
Our forest-masted harbors shine
With shimmering fleets; and we go on
To climes afar of palm and vine,
And in the warp of Traffic weave
A sinister and base design,
V
V
Of mild and hapless IslandersWho fall before our soldiers' aim;Of broken faith—of sophistries—Of sin, of blood-shed, and of shame;Oh! Commerce, Commerce, who shall tellThe crimes committed in thy name.
Of mild and hapless Islanders
Who fall before our soldiers' aim;
Of broken faith—of sophistries—
Of sin, of blood-shed, and of shame;
Oh! Commerce, Commerce, who shall tell
The crimes committed in thy name.
VI
VI
Turn, turn my Fancy, inland borneWhere Nature's solace shall not failTo ease the heart; view skyey seasWhere cloud armadas, sail on sail,Manned by the winds go warping downBelow the far horizon's trail.
Turn, turn my Fancy, inland borne
Where Nature's solace shall not fail
To ease the heart; view skyey seas
Where cloud armadas, sail on sail,
Manned by the winds go warping down
Below the far horizon's trail.
VII
VII
And as the budding willows blowWhen March comes whirling past the lanes,With bird-note wild, and fifing windsAnd undertone of sibilant rains,On slopes where Winter's garment meltsBlue as the sea are violet stains.
And as the budding willows blow
When March comes whirling past the lanes,
With bird-note wild, and fifing winds
And undertone of sibilant rains,
On slopes where Winter's garment melts
Blue as the sea are violet stains.
VIII
VIII
Where cattle seek the shaded poolsAnd silence folds the sun-burned lands,Her auburn tresses backward flungMid-Summer, like to Ceres stands,Beside the fields of waving grainWith harvest-apples in her hands.
Where cattle seek the shaded pools
And silence folds the sun-burned lands,
Her auburn tresses backward flung
Mid-Summer, like to Ceres stands,
Beside the fields of waving grain
With harvest-apples in her hands.
IX
IX
And stealthily through winnowing duskI see the curling smoke ascend,Where lie the farms; and evermoreWhere hope, and health, and manhood blend;While stubble shorn and pastures bareProclaim the waning season's end.
And stealthily through winnowing dusk
I see the curling smoke ascend,
Where lie the farms; and evermore
Where hope, and health, and manhood blend;
While stubble shorn and pastures bare
Proclaim the waning season's end.
X
X
And as beyond the naked hillsThe chill November sunset dies,And cloudward now a phalanx swimsWhere guttural honking fills the skies,Black-sculptured on approaching nightAnd southward bound, the wild-goose flies.
And as beyond the naked hills
The chill November sunset dies,
And cloudward now a phalanx swims
Where guttural honking fills the skies,
Black-sculptured on approaching night
And southward bound, the wild-goose flies.
NINE
IBehold the kindred human typesTribe, Sept, and class, Race, Caste, and Clan;Red, Black and Yellow; White and Brown;Processions of Primordial ManThat wax apace, and stream acrossIn one unending caravan.IIThe Fisher-People with their shellsAnd dwellers of the Age of Stone;The Kirghiz of the Western SteppesThe Greek, the Turk, the Mongol shown,The Goth, the Frank,—I see them passLike flash-lights by a mirror thrown.IIISo, too, the Arab, burnoose cladWho braves the stifling Simoon dry,Adrift upon Saharan tidesHis awkward camels lurching high,Long, lank, uncouth, but staunch as Death,Ships of the Desert, sailing by.IVNote the Caucasian in his prideWho prates of moldy pedigrees;A mushroom he, compared in EldTo the impassive, sly Chinese;Their records co-extant with TimeAnd swarming by the sundown seas.VEach comes and goes; as came and wentRameses' millions; in their dayWhat boast was made of Egypt's KingsHow God-like seemed their valorous play;But cynic years dispersed their lineSwift hurried with the winds away.VIAye! even as motes they had their graceFor a brief moment, son and sire;Then passed; as foam that sinks at seaOr chords which flee the Minstrel's lyre;Where rot the walls by Sidon raised?And where the long-lost hulls of Tyre?VIIAnd all men listen in their turnTo the same Sirens; greed of Gain—Love—Hate—Revenge—the lust of Power—And craze o'er fellow-man to reign—Ambition's lure—these intertwineLike links that form an endless chain.VIIISince Power is but the instant's clutchAnd naught so trivial as a Name,What crucial proof shall fix men's worthOn lasting tablets write their claim;So that their memories may fillA niche within the walls of Fame?IXThe test is not of Birth nor RaceSince each is worthy of his hire;It rests in what men do for menUplifted by the soul's desire,To tread Life's fiery furnacesAnd save their brothers from the fire.XAnd ranging far and searching deepHowever though the annals be,We find but one nigh faultless manThere was none other such as He;The Jew who taught and practiced LoveThe man who walked by Galilee.
I
I
Behold the kindred human typesTribe, Sept, and class, Race, Caste, and Clan;Red, Black and Yellow; White and Brown;Processions of Primordial ManThat wax apace, and stream acrossIn one unending caravan.
Behold the kindred human types
Tribe, Sept, and class, Race, Caste, and Clan;
Red, Black and Yellow; White and Brown;
Processions of Primordial Man
That wax apace, and stream across
In one unending caravan.
II
II
The Fisher-People with their shellsAnd dwellers of the Age of Stone;The Kirghiz of the Western SteppesThe Greek, the Turk, the Mongol shown,The Goth, the Frank,—I see them passLike flash-lights by a mirror thrown.
The Fisher-People with their shells
And dwellers of the Age of Stone;
The Kirghiz of the Western Steppes
The Greek, the Turk, the Mongol shown,
The Goth, the Frank,—I see them pass
Like flash-lights by a mirror thrown.
III
III
So, too, the Arab, burnoose cladWho braves the stifling Simoon dry,Adrift upon Saharan tidesHis awkward camels lurching high,Long, lank, uncouth, but staunch as Death,Ships of the Desert, sailing by.
So, too, the Arab, burnoose clad
Who braves the stifling Simoon dry,
Adrift upon Saharan tides
His awkward camels lurching high,
Long, lank, uncouth, but staunch as Death,
Ships of the Desert, sailing by.
IV
IV
Note the Caucasian in his prideWho prates of moldy pedigrees;A mushroom he, compared in EldTo the impassive, sly Chinese;Their records co-extant with TimeAnd swarming by the sundown seas.
Note the Caucasian in his pride
Who prates of moldy pedigrees;
A mushroom he, compared in Eld
To the impassive, sly Chinese;
Their records co-extant with Time
And swarming by the sundown seas.
V
V
Each comes and goes; as came and wentRameses' millions; in their dayWhat boast was made of Egypt's KingsHow God-like seemed their valorous play;But cynic years dispersed their lineSwift hurried with the winds away.
Each comes and goes; as came and went
Rameses' millions; in their day
What boast was made of Egypt's Kings
How God-like seemed their valorous play;
But cynic years dispersed their line
Swift hurried with the winds away.
VI
VI
Aye! even as motes they had their graceFor a brief moment, son and sire;Then passed; as foam that sinks at seaOr chords which flee the Minstrel's lyre;Where rot the walls by Sidon raised?And where the long-lost hulls of Tyre?
Aye! even as motes they had their grace
For a brief moment, son and sire;
Then passed; as foam that sinks at sea
Or chords which flee the Minstrel's lyre;
Where rot the walls by Sidon raised?
And where the long-lost hulls of Tyre?
VII
VII
And all men listen in their turnTo the same Sirens; greed of Gain—Love—Hate—Revenge—the lust of Power—And craze o'er fellow-man to reign—Ambition's lure—these intertwineLike links that form an endless chain.
And all men listen in their turn
To the same Sirens; greed of Gain—
Love—Hate—Revenge—the lust of Power—
And craze o'er fellow-man to reign—
Ambition's lure—these intertwine
Like links that form an endless chain.
VIII
VIII
Since Power is but the instant's clutchAnd naught so trivial as a Name,What crucial proof shall fix men's worthOn lasting tablets write their claim;So that their memories may fillA niche within the walls of Fame?
Since Power is but the instant's clutch
And naught so trivial as a Name,
What crucial proof shall fix men's worth
On lasting tablets write their claim;
So that their memories may fill
A niche within the walls of Fame?
IX
IX
The test is not of Birth nor RaceSince each is worthy of his hire;It rests in what men do for menUplifted by the soul's desire,To tread Life's fiery furnacesAnd save their brothers from the fire.
The test is not of Birth nor Race
Since each is worthy of his hire;
It rests in what men do for men
Uplifted by the soul's desire,
To tread Life's fiery furnaces
And save their brothers from the fire.
X
X
And ranging far and searching deepHowever though the annals be,We find but one nigh faultless manThere was none other such as He;The Jew who taught and practiced LoveThe man who walked by Galilee.
And ranging far and searching deep
However though the annals be,
We find but one nigh faultless man
There was none other such as He;
The Jew who taught and practiced Love
The man who walked by Galilee.