“O monstrous, dead, unprofitable world,
That thou canst hear, and hearing hold thy way!
A voice oracular hath pealed to-day,
To-day a hero’s banner is unfurled;
Hast thou no lip for welcome?”—So I said.
Man after man, the world smiled and passed by;
A smile of wistful incredulity,
As though one spake of life unto the dead,—
Scornful, and strange, and sorrowful, and full
Of bitter knowledge. Yet the will is free;
Strong is the soul, and wise, and beautiful;
The seeds of godlike power are in us still;
Gods are we, bards, saints, heroes, if we will!—
Dumb judges, answer, truth or mockery?
WRITTEN IN BUTLER’S SERMONS.
Affections, Instincts, Principles, and Powers,
Impulse and Reason, Freedom and Control,—
So men, unravelling God’s harmonious whole,
Rend in a thousand shreds this life of ours.
Vain labor! Deep and broad, where none may see,
Spring the foundations of that shadowy throne
Where man’s one nature, queen-like, sits alone,
Centred in a majestic unity;
And rays her powers, like sister-islands seen
Linking their coral arms under the sea,
Or clustered peaks with plunging gulfs between,
Spanned by aërial arches all of gold,
Whereo’er the chariot-wheels of life are rolled
In cloudy circles to eternity.