To the false promptings that waylay
His steps at every turn;
Flinging the true and good away
For joys that he should spurn,
As being all unworthy of
His greatness as a man.
Why, man!—why tremble at the scoff
Of fools and bigots? Scan
The mental firmament, and see
How men in every age,
Who strove for immortality—
Whose errand was to wage
Not War, but Peace—men of pure minds,
Who sought and found the truth,
And treasured it, as one who finds
The secret of lost Youth
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Restored and made immortal—see
How they were scorned, because
Their Sphinx-lives spake of mystery
To those to whom the laws
Of nature are as claspèd books!—
Poets, who ruled the world
Of Thought; in whose prophetic looks
And minds there lay impearled,
But hidden from the vulgar sight,
Such universal truths,
That many, blinded by the light—
Gray-haired, green-gosling youths,
With whips of satire, looks of scorn,
And finger of disdain,
Have crushed these harbingers of morn,
But could not kill the strain
That was a part of nature's mind,
And therefore can not die.
That which men spurned, angels have shrined
Among God's truths on high.