Glimpses I caught of faces that have come
Through crowding ages; whisperings of songs;
And prayers for the redress of human wrongs
From voices that upon the earth are dumb.
They were but shadows, but they lent me joy;
They gave me reverence for all who pace
The world with hands raised, evil to destroy,
Who live but for the honour of their race.
They taught me to strike at no idol raised,
Worshipped a space, then left to be dispraised.
FALLEN IDOLS
Stedfastness, shall we find it, then, at all?
Is it that as the winds blow north and south,
So must be praises from the loud world's mouth,
Which on its heroes in their glory fall?
Because the voice grows stiller, or the arm
No longer can beat evils back; because
The shoulders sink beneath new-rising cause,
And the fine thought has lost its moving charm;
Because of these shall puny sages shake
Their heads, and haste to mock the failing one,
Who in his strength could make the nations quake;
Prophet like Daniel, King like Solomon!
In this full time we have seen mockers run
About the throne of such as Tennyson.
TENNYSON
Who saith thy hand is weak, King Tennyson?
Who crieth, See, the monarch is grown old,
His sceptre falls? Oh, carpers rude and bold,
You who have fed upon the gracious benison