 | The various writings of Cornelius Mathews |  |
VI.
THE MECHANIC.
O, when thou walkest by the river's brink,
Thy bulky figure outlined in the wave,
Or, on thine adze-staff resting, 'neath the ship
Thy strokes have shaped, or hear'st thou loud and brave
The clangor of the boastful forge—Think not
To strength of limb, to sinews large and tough,
Are given rights masterless and vantage-proof,
The sad, pale scholar and his puny hand
Idling his thoughts upon the idle sand,
May not possess as full: oh, maddened, drink not
With greedy ear what selfish Passion pours:
His a sway peculiar is, no less than yours.
Thy bulky figure outlined in the wave,
Or, on thine adze-staff resting, 'neath the ship
Thy strokes have shaped, or hear'st thou loud and brave
The clangor of the boastful forge—Think not
To strength of limb, to sinews large and tough,
Are given rights masterless and vantage-proof,
The sad, pale scholar and his puny hand
Idling his thoughts upon the idle sand,
May not possess as full: oh, maddened, drink not
With greedy ear what selfish Passion pours:
His a sway peculiar is, no less than yours.
The inner world is his; the outer thine—
(And both are God's)—a world, maiden and new,
To shape and finish forth, of iron and wood,
Of rock and brass, to fashion, mould and hew—
In countless cunning forms to re-create—
Till the great God of order shall proclaim it “Good!”
Proportioned fair, as in its first estate.
Let consecrate, whate'er it strikes, each blow—
From the small whisper of the tinkling smith,
Up to the big-voiced sledge that heaving slow
Roars 'gainst the massy bar, and tears
Its entrail, glowing, as with angry teeth—
Anchors that hold a world should thus-wise grow.
(And both are God's)—a world, maiden and new,
To shape and finish forth, of iron and wood,
Of rock and brass, to fashion, mould and hew—
In countless cunning forms to re-create—
Till the great God of order shall proclaim it “Good!”
Proportioned fair, as in its first estate.
Let consecrate, whate'er it strikes, each blow—
From the small whisper of the tinkling smith,
Up to the big-voiced sledge that heaving slow
Roars 'gainst the massy bar, and tears
Its entrail, glowing, as with angry teeth—
Anchors that hold a world should thus-wise grow.
In the First Builder's gracious spirit work,
Through hall, through enginery, and temples meek,
In grandeur towered, or lapsing, beauty-sleek,
Let order and creative fitness shine:
Though mountains are no more to rear,
Though woods may rise again no more;
The noble task to re-produce is thine!
The spreading branch—the firm-set peak may live
With thee, and in thy well-sped labors thrive.
Through hall, through enginery, and temples meek,
In grandeur towered, or lapsing, beauty-sleek,
Let order and creative fitness shine:
Though mountains are no more to rear,
Though woods may rise again no more;
The noble task to re-produce is thine!
The spreading branch—the firm-set peak may live
With thee, and in thy well-sped labors thrive.
The untried forces of the air, the earth, the sea,
Wait at thy bidding: oh, compel their powers
To uses holy! Let them ever be
Servants to tend and bless these new-found bowers;
And make them household workers, free and swift,
On daily use—on daily service bent:
Her face again old Eden may uplift,
And God look down the open firmament.
Wait at thy bidding: oh, compel their powers
To uses holy! Let them ever be
Servants to tend and bless these new-found bowers;
And make them household workers, free and swift,
On daily use—on daily service bent:
Her face again old Eden may uplift,
And God look down the open firmament.
| The various writings of Cornelius Mathews | |