 | Voices from the Mountains |  |
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THE YOUNG EARTH.
“The earth gives signs of age, disease, and fickleness. It
yields its increase grudgingly, and demands an exorbitant fee
beforehand, in toil and sweat from the husbandman. It has ill
turns or paroxysms, when it rouses the ocean into a tempest,
and makes sport of navies, strewing the shore with the wrecks
and carcases of men. It rocks a continent or sinks an island;
shaking massive cities into countless fragments, and burying its
wretched inhabitants in indiscriminate ruin; anon it writhes
and groans in mortal agony, and finds relief only by disgorging
its fiery bowels, burying cities and villages in burning graves.
The earth is old and feeble, and must needs groan on until
it renews its prime.”
—Miseries and Liabilities of the present
Life.
Old Earth? Young Earth!—though myriad years,
Since Time's primeval morn,
She may have bloom'd amid the spheres
Before a man was born!
Since Time's primeval morn,
She may have bloom'd amid the spheres
Before a man was born!
Still young; though race succeeding race
Have trod her breast sublime,
And flourish'd in their pride of place
Their full allotted time,—
Have trod her breast sublime,
And flourish'd in their pride of place
Their full allotted time,—
Then pass'd away, like daily things,
Nor left a trace behind
To tell how many thousand Springs
They lived before mankind.
Nor left a trace behind
To tell how many thousand Springs
They lived before mankind.
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We, who for threescore years and ten
Toil deathwards from our birth,
Deem sixty centuries of men
A ripe old age for Earth.
Toil deathwards from our birth,
Deem sixty centuries of men
A ripe old age for Earth.
But all our deeds, though back we look
With yearning keen and fond,
Fill but a page: the mighty book
Lies infinite beyond.
With yearning keen and fond,
Fill but a page: the mighty book
Lies infinite beyond.
She is not old, or waxing cold,
But vigorous as of yore,
When 'mid her kindred globes she roll'd,
Exulting evermore.
But vigorous as of yore,
When 'mid her kindred globes she roll'd,
Exulting evermore.
Six thousand years of human strife
Are little in the sum;
A morning added to her life,
And noonday yet to come.
Are little in the sum;
A morning added to her life,
And noonday yet to come.
Six thousand years! what have they brought,
O, poor ephemeral man?
Go, reckon centuries by thought,
Thou'lt find them but a span.
O, poor ephemeral man?
Go, reckon centuries by thought,
Thou'lt find them but a span.
Go reckon time by progress made,
And lo! what ages pass,
Swift as the transitory shade
Of clouds upon the grass.
And lo! what ages pass,
Swift as the transitory shade
Of clouds upon the grass.
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Six thousand years! and what are they?
A cycle scarce begun;
The fragment of a grander day
Unmeasured by the sun;
A cycle scarce begun;
The fragment of a grander day
Unmeasured by the sun;
Too short to purify the sight
Of souls in Error blind;
Too short to show the healing light
Of Love to all mankind.
Of souls in Error blind;
Too short to show the healing light
Of Love to all mankind.
For lo! the lesson has been read
In every clime and tongue;
The Sea has breathed it from her bed,
And Earth and Air have sung;
In every clime and tongue;
The Sea has breathed it from her bed,
And Earth and Air have sung;
The Sun has beam'd it from above
To all his worlds around;
The stars have preach'd that God is Love:
But answer never found.
To all his worlds around;
The stars have preach'd that God is Love:
But answer never found.
The generations cold and dark
Have lived and pass'd away,
And never caught the faintest spark
Of Love's eternal ray.
Have lived and pass'd away,
And never caught the faintest spark
Of Love's eternal ray.
The myriads, seeking to create
An idol to adore,
Have made their God a God of Hate,
And worshipp'd him with gore.
An idol to adore,
Have made their God a God of Hate,
And worshipp'd him with gore.
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And living multitudes have heard
That Love is Nature's plan,
Yet shut their souls against the Word
That teaches love to man.
That Love is Nature's plan,
Yet shut their souls against the Word
That teaches love to man.
But there is progress in the spheres,
The glorious Earth is young;
The seed has lain six thousand years,
The tender shoots have sprung.
The glorious Earth is young;
The seed has lain six thousand years,
The tender shoots have sprung.
She is not old but young and fair;
And marching to her prime,
Her teeming bosom yet shall bear
The harvest of her time.
And marching to her prime,
Her teeming bosom yet shall bear
The harvest of her time.
And generations thought-endued—
Each wiser than the last,
Shall crowd, in one short year the good
Of centuries of the past;—
Each wiser than the last,
Shall crowd, in one short year the good
Of centuries of the past;—
Shall, living, aid by loving deeds
The truths for which we pine,
And, dying, sow the fruitful seeds
Of impulse more divine.
The truths for which we pine,
And, dying, sow the fruitful seeds
Of impulse more divine.
The struggle, long and sorely fought,
Embitter'd as it spread,
For simplest rights—free hand, free thought,
And sustenance of bread:
Embitter'd as it spread,
For simplest rights—free hand, free thought,
And sustenance of bread:
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The struggle of the righteous weak
Against the unrighteous strong;
Of Justice firm, though mild and meek,
Against oppressive Wrong—
Against the unrighteous strong;
Of Justice firm, though mild and meek,
Against oppressive Wrong—
Draws in, and must be ended yet;—
It ripens to its hour:
The mighty combatants have met;
And Truth has challenged Power.
It ripens to its hour:
The mighty combatants have met;
And Truth has challenged Power.
Young Earth!—her sad six thousand years,
Now passing swift away,
Are but her infancy of tears—
The dawn before the day.
Now passing swift away,
Are but her infancy of tears—
The dawn before the day.
| Voices from the Mountains | |