Mundi et Cordis De Rebus Sempiternis et Temporariis: Carmina. Poems and Sonnets. By Thomas Wade |
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“REFORM-BILL” HYMNS. |
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III. “REFORM-BILL” HYMNS.
1. THE “NEWSPAPER.”
It goeth forth, an instrument of power,
Ruling and ruled by Great Society;
Noting the human business of the hour,
With retrospection far, and prophecy;
Showing the world the world, and to the tide
Of Time its own vast flowings—self-supplied!
Ruling and ruled by Great Society;
Noting the human business of the hour,
With retrospection far, and prophecy;
Showing the world the world, and to the tide
Of Time its own vast flowings—self-supplied!
A wondrous and a mighty Thing it is,
Speaking to distant millions as to near;
Rousing all passions and all sympathies,
And forcing the earth's space to disappear
By its connecting course o'er all the lands,
Which makes the globe's antipodes shake hands!
Speaking to distant millions as to near;
Rousing all passions and all sympathies,
And forcing the earth's space to disappear
By its connecting course o'er all the lands,
Which makes the globe's antipodes shake hands!
Before its all-detecting, all-proclaiming
And all-truth-telling voice, the Tyrant's throne
And the bald Bigot's altar, heavenward flaming
With fires derived from hell, quiver and groan;
For it is clothed in liberty and light,
And casts destroying sun-shafts through their night!
And all-truth-telling voice, the Tyrant's throne
And the bald Bigot's altar, heavenward flaming
With fires derived from hell, quiver and groan;
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And casts destroying sun-shafts through their night!
Hail it, ye stirring Millions! as your Saver
From the Old Law of Things, that kept ye under
The foot-tread of the Few—as the way-paver
To your redemption-goal! And, of its thunder
Ye who sit throned the Joves invisible,
Use the mighty weapon well!
Hide it not in cloudy sphere
Of pale apathy, or fear;
But, ever let its radiant bolts be hurl'd
Against the Giant Ills that still bestride the World!
From the Old Law of Things, that kept ye under
The foot-tread of the Few—as the way-paver
To your redemption-goal! And, of its thunder
Ye who sit throned the Joves invisible,
Use the mighty weapon well!
Hide it not in cloudy sphere
Of pale apathy, or fear;
But, ever let its radiant bolts be hurl'd
Against the Giant Ills that still bestride the World!
2. A SONG OF THE PEOPLE.
The Hoary Dotard, Aristocracy,
Shakes in his crumbling palace-halls; for, hark!
On the broad Ocean of Democracy
Floats Liberty, prepared to disembark
On her predestin'd strand,
This English land!
In glory, o'er a world of tribulation,
She raiseth her bright banner—as the Sun
O'er clouds and storms ascendeth burningly—
And, with a loud and multitudinous voice,
The millions of the congregated Nation
(Myriad-lipp'd; but its great hearts as one!) Rejoice!
They fear! The Few who on our lives have fed—
The Tramplers on the Many—turn in dread!
And we, the mighty People, to regain
Our stolen birthright have not wrought in vain—
We live! we live, again!
Shakes in his crumbling palace-halls; for, hark!
On the broad Ocean of Democracy
Floats Liberty, prepared to disembark
On her predestin'd strand,
This English land!
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She raiseth her bright banner—as the Sun
O'er clouds and storms ascendeth burningly—
And, with a loud and multitudinous voice,
The millions of the congregated Nation
(Myriad-lipp'd; but its great hearts as one!) Rejoice!
They fear! The Few who on our lives have fed—
The Tramplers on the Many—turn in dread!
And we, the mighty People, to regain
Our stolen birthright have not wrought in vain—
We live! we live, again!
Still bloodless be the sword we draw,
To make our lawful wills the law
O'er dull Convention, Tyranny and Wrong,
Made by the Ignorance of Ages strong!
No gory weapon will we deign to wield,
Drenching with brother-blood our brother's field;
Dungeons and chains, death-blocks and torturings
Shall vanish from the world with Slaves and Kings:
We fight to conquer and convert our Foes;
Not use them bloodily! From Freedom flows
Nor human tears, nor human gore:
With spiritual weapons for things spiritual
The living Many battle, as of yore
Did here and there some solitary Sage,
The one soul-beacon of his mindless Age!
For Knowledge now on myriad wings
From the Press, self-plumed, springs
And floats around us all!
We have not striven in vain
Against the tyrant-chain!
They fear! The Few who on our lives have fed—
The Tramplers on the Many—turn in dread!
We live! we live, again!
To make our lawful wills the law
O'er dull Convention, Tyranny and Wrong,
Made by the Ignorance of Ages strong!
No gory weapon will we deign to wield,
Drenching with brother-blood our brother's field;
Dungeons and chains, death-blocks and torturings
Shall vanish from the world with Slaves and Kings:
We fight to conquer and convert our Foes;
Not use them bloodily! From Freedom flows
Nor human tears, nor human gore:
With spiritual weapons for things spiritual
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Did here and there some solitary Sage,
The one soul-beacon of his mindless Age!
For Knowledge now on myriad wings
From the Press, self-plumed, springs
And floats around us all!
We have not striven in vain
Against the tyrant-chain!
They fear! The Few who on our lives have fed—
The Tramplers on the Many—turn in dread!
We live! we live, again!
3. TO THE PEERS.
Some golden bubbles, in the unquiet air(Creations of a Childish Fantasy!)
Floating, I saw: lo! bare arms muscular
Approach'd them; and two hands—like Destiny
Crushing old worlds—destroy'd them utterly.
Slight sun-hatch'd creatures, in the calmness veering
Which did precede the storm, as though their fans
Of down were eagle-pinions, nothing fearing
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I saw, and pitied for their vain careering:
The mighty winds came on, and mightier storms,
And whirl'd into the dust their insect-forms.
Bubbles and butterflies of men!—Ye Peers!—
Make for yourselves a safety in your fears!
4. TO THE COMMONS, AT THEIR SQUABBLES.
What is't ye do, Dull Spiders! darkly weavingThe web of your poor passions in the corners
Of your old Chamber, for the vile deceiving
Of idle fools, making the wise your scorners;
When all your words should be as songs of day
From bees and birds, all-cheering and intense
With peaceful power and thrilling influence
Over the list'ning world? Unto the Mass
Who toil with head or hand, what boot the feuds
That furnish gabble to your heated moods,
When truth runs o'er with wine, and shows ye—liars!
We must have answer to our great desires
For Social Progress; or we force the way,
And o'er ye, as a mighty whirlwind, pass!
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5. TO THE HIERARCHY.
Thou hast not built thy house upon the rockOf Christ and his Good-Tidings, thou proud Thing,
Self-baptized with the name of “Hierarchy”!
But on the sand of this world's vanishing;
Wherefore, it shall not brave the coming shock
Of Truth and Knowledge, in their flowings high
Up the vast banks of Time; but, undermined,
Must shake, and great shall be the fall thereof.
Thy title is usurp'd, swollen Hierarchy!
“Chief of the Sacred” art thou not; for, know
That not with Mammon and his rust, below,
Abideth Sacredness, whose mansion-roof
Archeth the Universe!—O, Base-of-Mind!
Thou in the Church of Christ hast dug a gluttonous stye.
6. TO MY COUNTRY.
England! that in thy confidence of powerDost lie like guarded sleep—keep wide thine eyes!
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That shall make chaff of all thy vanities:
But of that scattering, whether smiles or sighs
Shall be the issue, doth depend on thee—
Awake, old Country! from thine apathy;
And, gentle Mother! make thine Offspring blest
With more of equal plenty and sweet rest
Than is their dowry now, that they may feel
A filial heart-beat for their Parent's weal:
Let not a few wax gross with luxury,
Whilst thousands famish on one scanty meal—
Old Parent, wake! and hear thy Children's cry.
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