Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Where, with sounds of toil and wonder,
Engines roar and axles roll;
Where convergent railways thunder
Hourly to their central goal;
Where, from distant vale and highland,
To and fro are sent and brought,
O'er this broad imperial Island,
Trade and travel, wealth and thought;

II

Where our English youth inherit,
From remote ancestral days,
Nurture meet for mind and spirit,
Guidance sure in wisdom's ways;
Where, in strife with sore temptations,
Wrong'd, mis-judged, reviled, belied,
(Name beloved, revered by nations!)
Arnold battled, taught, and died;

III

Where the giant sons of labour
Gathering, swarming, work, and wive,
Neighbour pressing close on neighbour,
In their huge, still widening hive;
Where, in haste which never endeth,
Mammon on his path doth plod;
There a cry to Heaven ascendeth—
“Build, oh build, the House of God.”

223

IV

Who shall help to bear the burden?
Who shall help the strife to win,—
(Strife—its own abundant guerdon,)
With the powers of Death and Sin?
Parents, children, wives and mothers,
Rich and poor, and young and old,—
Spend, be spent for friends and brothers,—
For the flock prepare the fold.

V

Men of wealth, whose gold proceedeth
From the hordes which labour here,
Grant, to every soul that needeth,
Bread to strengthen, wine to cheer:
Give the toil-worn heart, which yearneth
For its hour of sabbath rest,
Leave to greet the light which burneth
Brightly for the weary breast.

VI

Christian servants—Christian masters,
Tradesman and apprentice, come;
Heal the stricken soul's disasters,
Give the wandering heart a home:
Let none faint, draw back, or falter,
Now the struggle hath begun;
Till, from God's completed Altar,
Sounds a voice, “Your work is done.”

VII

Well! O brothers! well already,—
Well! O sisters! ye have wrought;
Still be patient, firm and steady,
One in heart, and will, and thought
Still, with keen unwavering vision,
Keep the nearing goal in view

224

Still, with prompt resolved decision,
Each the general prize pursue.

VIII

Urge, enforce your proud petition,—
East and west, and south and north,
Speed your couriers on their mission,
Send your rousing summons forth:
Hearts there be in every quarter,
Which our Town's dear name shall stir;
Sons alert earth's wealth to barter,
For the lore they learn'd of Her.

IX

Ye whose youthful footsteps wander'd
By our wizard Avon's side;
Ye whose hearts first mused and ponder'd
Here, on thoughts whose fruits abide;
Ye to whom each slope and valley,
Lane and meadow far around—
Ye to whom each nook and alley
Of our streets is holy ground!—

X

Ye to whom old days returning,
In your sons, almost restore
Hopes with which your hearts were burning
Ere sad manhood's yoke ye bore;
For the priceless lore imparted,
For the nurture which doth train
Here your young and guileless-hearted—
Pay us now in kind again.

XI

Ye who still are fondly ranging
Through your embryo world of thought,

225

Bright with hues each moment changing,
Teeming still with joys unsought;
Ye whom learning, art and science,
Tempt, encourage, urge, invite,
Here with manifold appliance,
To true wisdom's pure delight;

XII

Ye whose barks, not yet in motion,—
Ye whose sails, not yet unfurl'd,—
Float at rest upon the ocean
Of this wide tempestuous world;
Ye whose sports are still your labours,—
Ye who know not care nor woe,—
O'er the souls of thirsting neighbours
Help the stream of life to flow.

XIII

Ye whom deeper draughts of knowledge
Strengthen in your May of youth,
Still in cloister'd court and college
Seeking self-revealing Truth;
Think what Her pursuit hath made you,
Think in Her what others lack;
As your school-day tasks still aid you,
Aid, as Christians, send us back.

XIV

Dwellers in old haunts of learning,—
Ye who once from Arnold heard
Thoughts for which your hearts were yearning,—
Thoughts for which their depths were stirr'd;
Where great Alfred's shade reposeth,—
Where meek Henry's name is blest,—
Where sepulchral darkness closeth
O'er the Bard's and Statesman's rest;—

226

XV

Ye who near Sabrina's waters,—
On her steeple-crested shore,
(—Loveliest she of Learning's daughters!—)
Train young hearts in healthiest lore;—
Hear a sister's voice appealing,—
Hear her children, how they plead;
Send her gracious help and healing
In her straitness and her need.

XVI

By the thoughts which haunt and trouble,
In your courts, the good and wise;
By the tears they cause to bubble
Oft and oft to aged eyes;
By the strong enchantment breathing
From your old ancestral towers;
By the magic folds enwreathing
Gentle hearts, both yours and ours;—

XVII

Now, while murkiest clouds combining
Brood o'er Learning's midland home;—
While, her deep foundations mining,
Creep the pioneers of Rome;—
While the shots begin to rattle,—
While on our unwavering van
Bursts the onset of the battle—
Hear us, help us, ye who can!

XVIII

Here, where Thought's fresh fountains glisten
In the ingenuous eye of Youth;
Where pure spirits love to listen
To the voice of ancient Truth;
Here, where Travel's paths are centred,—
Here, where Trade hath fixed her throne,—

227

Rome's insidious hosts have enter'd,
Rome's pernicious seed is sown.

XIX

Here the wily Jesuit lurketh,—
Here the Monk hath built his cell;
Here the meek-eyed Sister worketh
For the Church she loves so well;
Here (O thought of shame and sorrow!)
Foes, once friends, our peace invade;
Tenfold strength false Rome doth borrow
From the enthusiast renegade.

XX

Garbs uncouth, ill-boding faces,
Through our streets like spectres steal;
Men who ne'er a child's embraces
Ne'er a father's love must feel;
Gaunt of form and grim of feature,
Barr'd from all that God hath given
Here to bless his noblest creature—
Phantoms not of Earth—nor Heaven.

XXI

These!—are these thy foes, O Britain?
This the host thy sons must dread?
Must thy life of life be smitten
In such combat with the dead?
Joy were thine, O queenly nation,
Lurk'd no deadlier peril near;
Had thy coming generation
No more desperate strife to fear!

XXII

These, at least, are half our brothers,—
Brothers, tho' of creed outworn;
Now of mischief's myriad mothers
Creedless foes are hourly born:

228

Hosts in darkness grow and gather,
Foes to altar, hearth, and throne;
Foes who know no Heavenly Father,
No Divine Redeemer own.

XXIII

Sounds of dread begin to mutter
Harshly to the initiate ear;
Tongues obscene find strength to utter
Boding sounds of rage and fear:
On the thin and narrowing border
Of debate and peace we stand;
Waiting till full-grown disorder
Burst in fury on the land.

XXIV

Still, thou proud and palmy nation,
Undisturb'd thy state appears;
Still thy gaze of expectation
Beameth on the coming years:
Still thou cleav'st, of change abhorrent,
To establish'd rule and form;—
Smoothest stream!—to swell the torrent!
Breathless hush!—to break in storm!

XXV

Deep within thy breast is seething
Many a form of social ill;
Many a soul, in secret breathing
Rage and hate, lies close and still;
Through thy frame with strange sensation
Shiverings chill begin to creep;
Dreams of feverish agitation
Vex thee in thy troubled sleep.

XXVI

Godless hordes, untaught, neglected,
Writhing in their want and pain,—

229

Unappeased and unprotected,—
Fierce of heart and wild of brain,—
Scarce even now their rage can smother,—
Blind with hate, with suffering grim,
Curse their unacknowledged mother,—
Burn to rend her limb from limb.

XXVII

From the fields, by toil which grovels
Abject, hopeless, reaped and sown;
From the tottering huts and hovels
Thronged by forms of skin and bone;
From the vast o'er-peopled city,
Whence tall chimnies pierce the skies,—
Where pale crowds, unknown to pity,
Late take rest and early rise;—

XXVIII

From the subteranean cavern,
Where weak infants toil and pine;
From the tap-room and the tavern,
Where their wrathful sires combine,—
Swells the cry of hearts that languish,—
Hearts that shall ere long rebel;
Smokes the fire of human anguish
Kindled by the breath of hell.

XXIX

Still, thy face is bland and smiling,
Still thy words with grace abound;
Nought defiled, and nought defiling,
May in thy saloons be found:
Guides thou hast, whom all must follow,—
Doubt, near them, must hide its head;
Yet are half thy seemings hollow,—
Yet is half thy spirit dead.

230

XXX

Foul eruptive superstitions,
Flushing o'er thy tainted skin,
Mock, elude thy vain physicians,—
Shew disease uncheck'd within:
Not, O Britain, not for ever,
Can thy specious mockeries last;
Soon must blaze the latent fever,
Soon thy seeming health be past.

XXXI

Soon, in earthquake, flame and thunder,
Shall the fire, which smouldering lies,
Burst the hollow crust asunder
Of thy prim hypocrisies:
Then, when friends and foes are parted,
Shall the day of trial tell
Who are true, and who false-hearted,
Who for Heaven, and who for Hell.

XXXII

Pent till now in earth's recesses
Forms Titanic stir and rise,
Cursing all the Saviour blesses,
Spurning all His people prize:
Face to face stand Good and Evil,
For their last great conflict ranged;
Earth with Hell, and Man with Devil,
Man from God too long estranged!

XXXIII

Lo! the creeds of ages crumble!
Lo! on earth's upheaving crust,
Tower and temple reel and tumble,
Throne and empire turn to dust!
Hollow is the ground we tread on,
Prince and people, Church and priest;

231

Lo! the day of Armageddon
Dawneth in the louring east.

XXXIV

Ere, for this world's last dominion,
Host with host in combat close;
Ere the vulture flap her pinion
O'er expiring heaps of foes;
Once again, O brothers, rally,—
'Midst desertion, treachery, loss,
Undismay'd—o'er hill and valley
Wave the banner of the Cross.

XXXV

Faithful bands shall yet assemble,
When your gathering note is heard;
Yet the host of Hell shall tremble
At the thunders of the Word:
Yet—while dire convulsion rages
Ceaselessly from land to land,—
Founded on the Rock of Ages
Shall the Church unshaken stand.

XXXVI

Yet—while madly through the nations
Sweeps the flood of hate and fear;
She, with gentlest ministrations,
Shall her children's spirits cheer;
From the strife of vain opinions,
From the rush of error's blast,
Shield them with her sheltering pinions,
Till the storm be overpast.

XXXVII

Still, where'er her honour'd steeple
Points to Heaven from holy ground,
Shall a brave and righteous people
Faithful to its God be found:

232

Still shall bow before His Altar
Vigorous knee and hoary head;
Still by lips which lisp and falter
Shall his Holy Book be read.

XXXVIII

Still from hearths of humble gladness,
Still from homes by wealth despised,
Where, alike in joy and sadness,
Wisdom's word is known and prized,—
From the plough, the loom, the spindle,
Prayer and praise shall oft ascend;
Hearts with grateful love shall kindle
Towards their Heavenly King and Friend.

XXXIX

Still shall flames of pure devotion,
Kindled first at English hearth,
Spread their blaze o'er sea and ocean,
To the extremest verge of earth:
Still, where wife, and child, and father
Seek new homes on heathen ground,
There shall Christian Churches gather,
There shall Christian faith be found.

XL

Haste then, lay the strong foundation—
Haste, the choicer work prepare;
Friends of every rank and station,
Each the toil—the blessing share:
Each his separate service render,
Each his willing aid afford;
Till in grave majestic splendour
Stands the Temple of the Lord.

XLI

Spacious aisle, and chancel solemn,
Window stain'd with rare device,

233

Graceful arch and shapely column,
Fretwork quaint of costliest price;—
All that doth God's worship honour—
All that doth Man's heart impress—
All that doth the liberal donor
In his late remembrance bless,—

XLII

Make the Mansion rich and beauteous,
Which for God on earth we build;
There may hearts devout and duteous
With His present grace be fill'd!
Haste, hew timber, stone and marble,
Grasp the trowel, pile the hod;
While with heart and voice we warble
“Build! O Build! the House of God.”

Fabulosus Amnis.—Shakspere's Avon.