Look! E’en like shadows, mighty nations
Are born, flit by us, and are gone!
See! Children of a common father,
See stranger-crowds, like vapours gather;
Sires, sons, descendants, come and go.
Sad history! Yet e’en there the spirit
Some joys may build, some hopes inherit,
And wisdom gather flowers from woe.
There, like a bee-swarm, round the token
Of unveiled truth shall sects appear,