A Lazarus, up-rising from the grave,
Bursting the cerements of the straitened shroud;
To all true men Columbus calls aloud.
He scans the past, with all its priestly lore,
But, Janus-like, beholds the future’s shore.
What glorious scenes, what teeming wonders crowd!
What though the church behold him with a frown!
What though the crosier point toward the rack,
When heresy is near, as to the track
Of precious gold the magic hazel leans?