And these mounts of anguish number how each generation learned
One new word of that grand credo which in prophet-hearts hath burned,
Since the first man stood God-conquered with his face to heaven upturned.
For humanity sweeps onward; where to-day the martyr stands,
On the morrow crouches Judas with the silver in his hands;
Far in front the cross stands ready and the crackling fagots burn,
While the hooting mob of yesterday in silent awe return
To glean up the scattered ashes into history's golden urn.
'Tis as easy to be heroes as to sit the idle slaves
Of a legendary virtue carved upon our fathers' graves.