 | Duganne's Poetical Works |  |
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The Gospel of Labor.
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TO The True Laborer, (WHETHER HE WIELD THE PEN OR THE SLEDGE,) THESE “Good Tidings” ARE DELIVERED.
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PRELUDE.
Brothers! be ye whom ye may—
Sons of men, I bid you—PRAY:
Pray unceasing—pray with might:
Pray in darkness—pray in light!
Life hath still no hours to spare,—
Life is toil—and Toil is Prayer!
Sons of men, I bid you—PRAY:
Pray unceasing—pray with might:
Pray in darkness—pray in light!
Life hath still no hours to spare,—
Life is toil—and Toil is Prayer!
Life is toil! and all that lives
Sacrifice of Labor gives.
Water, fire, and air, and earth
Rest not, pause not, from their birth.
Seed, within the fruitful ground,
Insects, in the seas profound,
Bird and bee, and tree and flower,
Each hath Labor for its dower—
Each the mark of toil must wear,—
Toil ye, then!—for work is prayer!
Sacrifice of Labor gives.
Water, fire, and air, and earth
Rest not, pause not, from their birth.
Seed, within the fruitful ground,
Insects, in the seas profound,
Bird and bee, and tree and flower,
Each hath Labor for its dower—
Each the mark of toil must wear,—
Toil ye, then!—for work is prayer!
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Student! in thy searching mind
Lo! the key of heaven thou'lt find:
Trim thy lamp, and burn thine oil—
Through the midnight watches toil—
Lay the soul's great secrets bare,—
Labor! labor! work is prayer!
Lo! the key of heaven thou'lt find:
Trim thy lamp, and burn thine oil—
Through the midnight watches toil—
Lay the soul's great secrets bare,—
Labor! labor! work is prayer!
Patriot! toiling for thy kind,
Thou shalt break the chains that bind!
Shape thy thought and mould thy plan:
Toil for freedom! toil for man!
Sagely think, and boldly dare,—
Labor! labor!—work is prayer!
Thou shalt break the chains that bind!
Shape thy thought and mould thy plan:
Toil for freedom! toil for man!
Sagely think, and boldly dare,—
Labor! labor!—work is prayer!
Christian! round thee brothers stand—
Pledge thy truth, and give thy hand:
Raise the downcast—nerve the weak!
Toil for good—for virtue speak!
Let thy brethren be thy care,—
Labor! labor! work is prayer!
Pledge thy truth, and give thy hand:
Raise the downcast—nerve the weak!
Toil for good—for virtue speak!
Let thy brethren be thy care,—
Labor! labor! work is prayer!
Pray ye all!—the night draws near.
Toil, while yet the sky is clear;
Toil, while evil round ye springs;
Toil, while wrong its shadow flings;
Pray in hope, and ne'er despair,—
Toil ye! toil ye!—work is prayer!
Toil, while yet the sky is clear;
Toil, while evil round ye springs;
Toil, while wrong its shadow flings;
Pray in hope, and ne'er despair,—
Toil ye! toil ye!—work is prayer!
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THE CURSE AND THE BLESSING.
Oh! dark the day!—oh! desolate the hour,
When, driven from Eden's desecrated bower,
The stricken Pair in sadness wandered forth,
Alone—amid the wilderness of earth!
Before them gloomed the Future, cold and dim,—
Behind them flamed the swords of cherubim.
Oh! sad the earth!—oh! desolate its guise!
Yet there, in sooth, remained their Paradise!
Oh, bosomed there, beneath the darksome mould,
Were nestling Eden's flowers of blue and gold:
There clustered Eden's amber fruits, and there,
In wondrous sunlight, through the branches fair,
Dear Eden's wingéd songs made musical the air.
When, driven from Eden's desecrated bower,
The stricken Pair in sadness wandered forth,
Alone—amid the wilderness of earth!
Before them gloomed the Future, cold and dim,—
Behind them flamed the swords of cherubim.
Oh! sad the earth!—oh! desolate its guise!
Yet there, in sooth, remained their Paradise!
Oh, bosomed there, beneath the darksome mould,
Were nestling Eden's flowers of blue and gold:
There clustered Eden's amber fruits, and there,
In wondrous sunlight, through the branches fair,
Dear Eden's wingéd songs made musical the air.
But viewless Nature's glories—mute her tones—
To him the lord of all those boundless zones!
In vain her beckoning fingers wooed his glance
Where gentle meadows rolled their calm expanse;
Where sunny waters slept in silvery sheen,
And shadows darkened through the woodland green.
In vain with luring love the landscape greets:
A beauteous maze—a wilderness of sweets;
In vain with Eden joys the world is fraught,—
'Tis Adam's curse—that he beholds them not!
Though king of earth, unconscious of his throne;
Though owning all, regardless of his own,—
He only gazes back—with oft-complaining moan.
To him the lord of all those boundless zones!
In vain her beckoning fingers wooed his glance
Where gentle meadows rolled their calm expanse;
Where sunny waters slept in silvery sheen,
And shadows darkened through the woodland green.
In vain with luring love the landscape greets:
A beauteous maze—a wilderness of sweets;
In vain with Eden joys the world is fraught,—
'Tis Adam's curse—that he beholds them not!
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Though owning all, regardless of his own,—
He only gazes back—with oft-complaining moan.
Oh! blind the sense that Hope has ne'er illumed,
And dead the heart to Unbelieving doomed!
The soft wind wantons with the trembling trees:
Despairing Adam trembles as he sees;
The streamlet murmurs in the vale profound:
And fearful Adam pauses at the sound.
The Future threat'ning, while the Past appalls,
Prone to the earth his glance incurious falls.
Not his the faith that rules to blesséd calm,
Nor sorrowing love that lends the spirit balm;
Not his the holy joy with suffering blent,
Nor sacred strength to mortal trials lent
Unused to earthly light his Eden eyes,
Through tears alone must shine their Paradise;
Through tears alone—such tears as mortals shed
O'er cradled living and o'er coffin'd dead;
Such tears as from the bosom's fountains flow,
When Love's soft fingers press the brow of wo.
And dead the heart to Unbelieving doomed!
The soft wind wantons with the trembling trees:
Despairing Adam trembles as he sees;
The streamlet murmurs in the vale profound:
And fearful Adam pauses at the sound.
The Future threat'ning, while the Past appalls,
Prone to the earth his glance incurious falls.
Not his the faith that rules to blesséd calm,
Nor sorrowing love that lends the spirit balm;
Not his the holy joy with suffering blent,
Nor sacred strength to mortal trials lent
Unused to earthly light his Eden eyes,
Through tears alone must shine their Paradise;
Through tears alone—such tears as mortals shed
O'er cradled living and o'er coffin'd dead;
Such tears as from the bosom's fountains flow,
When Love's soft fingers press the brow of wo.
THE MYSTERY.
“By sweat of brow shalt thou eat bread!” The Doom
Went forth, and clothed the Future with its gloom:
The earth was shrouded unto Adam's gaze—
Each step a pitfall and each path a maze.
For him no flowers—for him no verdant soil;
All, all were blasted by the Curse of Toil.
Oh! blinded sense!—oh! doubting heart of Man:
In love conceived, behold the Eternal plan!—
Foretaste of earth, the Eden-dream was given
That man might note the blameless life of heaven:
In Eden's bower his soul could haply learn
The heaven which he through mortal toil might earn.
Then from its gate the Father led him forth,
To win that heaven from the unknown earth.
Went forth, and clothed the Future with its gloom:
The earth was shrouded unto Adam's gaze—
Each step a pitfall and each path a maze.
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All, all were blasted by the Curse of Toil.
Oh! blinded sense!—oh! doubting heart of Man:
In love conceived, behold the Eternal plan!—
Foretaste of earth, the Eden-dream was given
That man might note the blameless life of heaven:
In Eden's bower his soul could haply learn
The heaven which he through mortal toil might earn.
Then from its gate the Father led him forth,
To win that heaven from the unknown earth.
The Curse of Toil! Oh! rather the ovation
Of Man's true soul, whose life must be creation.
The Curse? Oh! Blessing—in mysterious guise!
Without it, Man were cursed in Paradise!
Where Sloth exposed him to the Tempter's art,
And Pleasure enervated brain and heart.
Man lived not, till he crossed fair Eden's portal:
The doom of death first made his soul immortal.
The death of ease was but the birth of power;
He lost the Past—but gained the Future's dower.
Behind him scarce had closed the flaming gate,
When Man—the creature—godlike, could create!
He smote the rocks, and crystal waves outstreamed;
He struck the plains—the plains with harvest teemed;
He clove the mines—the mines their treasures gave;
He grasped the sea—the sea became his slave!
Oh! when did Eden's golden sunshine fade?
Ah! when were Eden's bowers to dust decayed?
It was—when Man his sacred birthright gave
For pottage, and became his brother's slave!
It was—when, thriftless of the blessing Toil,
He sold his title to the teeming soil!
It was—when, paralyzed and servile grown,
He knelt and sued for that which was his own;
That which was given and ne'er reclaimed by God,—
The inalienable birthright—of the sod!
Of Man's true soul, whose life must be creation.
The Curse? Oh! Blessing—in mysterious guise!
Without it, Man were cursed in Paradise!
Where Sloth exposed him to the Tempter's art,
And Pleasure enervated brain and heart.
Man lived not, till he crossed fair Eden's portal:
The doom of death first made his soul immortal.
The death of ease was but the birth of power;
He lost the Past—but gained the Future's dower.
Behind him scarce had closed the flaming gate,
When Man—the creature—godlike, could create!
He smote the rocks, and crystal waves outstreamed;
He struck the plains—the plains with harvest teemed;
He clove the mines—the mines their treasures gave;
He grasped the sea—the sea became his slave!
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Ah! when were Eden's bowers to dust decayed?
It was—when Man his sacred birthright gave
For pottage, and became his brother's slave!
It was—when, thriftless of the blessing Toil,
He sold his title to the teeming soil!
It was—when, paralyzed and servile grown,
He knelt and sued for that which was his own;
That which was given and ne'er reclaimed by God,—
The inalienable birthright—of the sod!
THE HOPE.
Freedom and Labor are forever one!In man's true life their course is jointly run.
Behold they have descended
Through ages and through centuries,
Since Moses 'mid the sundered seas
Out-led his ransomed Israelites,
And taught the Tribes, in one great nation blended,
The Decalogue of Human Rights!
Through weary pilgrimage of Forty Years—
The Cloud by day—the Pillared Fire by night—
Still beaconing their sight,—
On, to the goal of all their hopes and fears—
On, to their Eden bright—the Promised Land—
In faith and wonder walked that chosen band.
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Which gleamed upon each soul!
The Land that God had given them for their own,
Which they through toil should win,—
This was the mighty heritage that alone
Led them through desert Zin.
Those Hebrew multitudes were led
Through cloven waters—they were fed
With heaven's unstinted bread:
And not for one, but ALL, the loving feast was spread:
Priest—Levite—yea! or Publican—
It mattered not—'Twas bread for MAN.
THE PARABLE.
That pilgrimage is parable for the world!Let tyrants read it, when from empire hurled!—
Let slaves behold the Sinai flame of God—
And tread the dust in which they once were trod!
That pilgrimage is gospel for the poor:
Teaching heaven's holiest mandate—to endure;—
Proving God's promise infinitely sure.
That pilgrimage is prophecy for all time!
Thus, through all ages, and in every clime,
The People have been wandering, toiling on;—
But, ah! not yet the Promised Land is won!
Not yet—and not till light hath conquered night;
Shall Canaan's borders bless the People's sight!
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TYRANNY THE CURSE.
A vision of the Past hath been with me,
Like a weird Presence. Over time's dark sea,
Upon whose crumbling shores the sullen waves
Break o'er their countless landmarks—human graves;
My disembodied soul, upon the wings
Of Thought, glides forth among long-perished things.
Like a weird Presence. Over time's dark sea,
Upon whose crumbling shores the sullen waves
Break o'er their countless landmarks—human graves;
My disembodied soul, upon the wings
Of Thought, glides forth among long-perished things.
The awful spell of History exhumes
The tribes of men from their centennial tombs:
The mouldered dust of cycles and of ages,
Garbed in the forms of warriors, priests, and sages.
I hear a solemn murmur, like the low,
Sad cadence of a world's despairing wo;—
As of a myriad brains with madness throbbing—
As of a myriad hearts through fetters sobbing—
As of a myriad dead and buried men,
Striving to burst their shrouds and live again.
The tribes of men from their centennial tombs:
The mouldered dust of cycles and of ages,
Garbed in the forms of warriors, priests, and sages.
I hear a solemn murmur, like the low,
Sad cadence of a world's despairing wo;—
As of a myriad brains with madness throbbing—
As of a myriad hearts through fetters sobbing—
As of a myriad dead and buried men,
Striving to burst their shrouds and live again.
Those brains and hearts—those dead men half-reviving,
And with their awful shackles vainly striving—
Striving through all the past and striving yet,—
Are they who eat bread in their forehead's sweat;—
Whose life is labor—whose reward, a crust.
Their works immortal, and their memory—dust!
And with their awful shackles vainly striving—
Striving through all the past and striving yet,—
Are they who eat bread in their forehead's sweat;—
Whose life is labor—whose reward, a crust.
Their works immortal, and their memory—dust!
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THE BOOK OF RUINS.
Lo! when Truth's hand reverses History's urn,
And Ruin's monumental leaves we turn,—
Behold, on cloven shrine and shivered column,
How iron Toil hath graven its legends solemn!
Behold the eloquent lesson of Decay:
If ye preserve not MAN, man's WORK will pass away!
And Ruin's monumental leaves we turn,—
Behold, on cloven shrine and shivered column,
How iron Toil hath graven its legends solemn!
Behold the eloquent lesson of Decay:
If ye preserve not MAN, man's WORK will pass away!
How the cold ruins mock us as we tread,
With trembling steps, each city of the dead—
How in their marble scorn do they deride,
The poor, short-sighted compass of our pride;
That pride which rears the temple and the shaft,
As glorious tokens of man's handicraft;
And then, in suicide madness, sacrifices
The life of MAN, which all earth's life comprises.
With trembling steps, each city of the dead—
How in their marble scorn do they deride,
The poor, short-sighted compass of our pride;
That pride which rears the temple and the shaft,
As glorious tokens of man's handicraft;
And then, in suicide madness, sacrifices
The life of MAN, which all earth's life comprises.
Lo! where the wise Chaldean's chariot wide
Rolled o'er Euphrates' bridged and conquered tide;
Lo! Babylon, where, on the Assyrian's soul,
Flashed the red language of his judgment-scroll,—
Where are they now!
Behold yon rolling cloud
Of simoom sand—it is Assyria's shroud.
Behold yon smoke from Kurdish wigwams rise—
There the Chaldean's gaze explored the skies!—
Where deserts stretch and wild marauders wander,
Ye may behold Time's giant wrecks—and ponder!
Fearfully do we tread
The Alpine masonry of Pyramids;
And shudderingly our feet are led
Thro' Egypt's populous tombs—the echoless Catacombs,
Beneath whose rocky lids
Slumber a nation's dead!—
With awe we mark the pillars overthrown
Of what was once the Athenian's Parthenon—
With fear we scan the crumbling stone
Of Rome's dread Coliseum: her pride—her mausoleum!
We dream not that those wrecks of old
A pregnant lesson may unfold:
Our blinded thoughts have never spanned
What Ruin's damp and mildewed hand
Hath writ upon each mouldering wall:—
A lesson like the scroll in doomed Belshazzar's hall!
Rolled o'er Euphrates' bridged and conquered tide;
Lo! Babylon, where, on the Assyrian's soul,
Flashed the red language of his judgment-scroll,—
Where are they now!
Behold yon rolling cloud
Of simoom sand—it is Assyria's shroud.
Behold yon smoke from Kurdish wigwams rise—
There the Chaldean's gaze explored the skies!—
Where deserts stretch and wild marauders wander,
Ye may behold Time's giant wrecks—and ponder!
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The Alpine masonry of Pyramids;
And shudderingly our feet are led
Thro' Egypt's populous tombs—the echoless Catacombs,
Beneath whose rocky lids
Slumber a nation's dead!—
With awe we mark the pillars overthrown
Of what was once the Athenian's Parthenon—
With fear we scan the crumbling stone
Of Rome's dread Coliseum: her pride—her mausoleum!
We dream not that those wrecks of old
A pregnant lesson may unfold:
Our blinded thoughts have never spanned
What Ruin's damp and mildewed hand
Hath writ upon each mouldering wall:—
A lesson like the scroll in doomed Belshazzar's hall!
THE LESSON.
Ye! piles! whose very ruin overwhelms
Our senses with your vastness—whose dread forms,
Clad in the hoar of centuries, shake the storms
Like dew-drops from your mailéd breasts! Ye realms
Of shadow! where Decay hath fixed her throne,
And thence foredooms the Present with the fate
Of all the Past!—Ye tongues of Toil! make known
The dread significance of your fallen state!—
Why live ye even in dust, and why for dust were ye create?
Our senses with your vastness—whose dread forms,
Clad in the hoar of centuries, shake the storms
Like dew-drops from your mailéd breasts! Ye realms
Of shadow! where Decay hath fixed her throne,
And thence foredooms the Present with the fate
Of all the Past!—Ye tongues of Toil! make known
The dread significance of your fallen state!—
Why live ye even in dust, and why for dust were ye create?
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Those ruins answer us! They speak amid
The shadowy years, like Samuel unto Saul:
Each stone hath voice—as if within the wall
A multitude of prisoned souls were hid;
Behold! they cry—behold! these crumbling piles
Are Tomb-stones of the Living! of the slaves—
The PEOPLE! by whose sweat and bloody toils
All were upreared—walls, bases, architraves!—
These are the monuments of those who have no graves!
The shadowy years, like Samuel unto Saul:
Each stone hath voice—as if within the wall
A multitude of prisoned souls were hid;
Behold! they cry—behold! these crumbling piles
Are Tomb-stones of the Living! of the slaves—
The PEOPLE! by whose sweat and bloody toils
All were upreared—walls, bases, architraves!—
These are the monuments of those who have no graves!
Those ruins teach us! Kings have writ their names
Upon the crushed entablatures, and deemed
Their memory deathless as each column seemed;
Why is it that nor king nor vassal claims
The homage which their awful works inspire?—
Why is it that we gaze—perchance admire—
Yet reck not of the long-forgotten builder,
Whose handiwork, even in ruins, can bewilder?
Upon the crushed entablatures, and deemed
Their memory deathless as each column seemed;
Why is it that nor king nor vassal claims
The homage which their awful works inspire?—
Why is it that we gaze—perchance admire—
Yet reck not of the long-forgotten builder,
Whose handiwork, even in ruins, can bewilder?
It is because the soul which was in him
Who built, was crushed into his work.—It is
Because the immortal life, which had been his,
Was trodden out by kings from soul and limb,—
That with it they might build these monuments
To their own glory.—Human soul and sense
Were sacrificed to matter—and STONES became,
Instead of MEN, the altars of a nation's fame.
Who built, was crushed into his work.—It is
Because the immortal life, which had been his,
Was trodden out by kings from soul and limb,—
That with it they might build these monuments
To their own glory.—Human soul and sense
Were sacrificed to matter—and STONES became,
Instead of MEN, the altars of a nation's fame.
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Myriads of lives were moulded into brass
For Rhodes' Colossus—millions crushed to clay,
That Thebes might dazzle thro' her short-lived day.
Oh! had these hecatombs of souls—this mass
Of living Labor—been together welded!—
Had one great mental monument been builded,—
Then had that rescued and united Whole
Templed Creation—with a deathless Human Soul.
For Rhodes' Colossus—millions crushed to clay,
That Thebes might dazzle thro' her short-lived day.
Oh! had these hecatombs of souls—this mass
Of living Labor—been together welded!—
Had one great mental monument been builded,—
Then had that rescued and united Whole
Templed Creation—with a deathless Human Soul.
THE FATE OF DESPOTISM.
Egypt, Assyria, Greece, and Rome! how vain
The trophies which of all your power remain!
How shadowy is the fame ye sought to span,
By piling stones upon the soul of man!
Your gold corrodes—your adamant is rotten:
Art hath no name when Nature is forgotten;
It lives thro' toil and dies with toil's subjection—
Only through Man redeemed comes Art's true resurrection!
The trophies which of all your power remain!
How shadowy is the fame ye sought to span,
By piling stones upon the soul of man!
Your gold corrodes—your adamant is rotten:
Art hath no name when Nature is forgotten;
It lives thro' toil and dies with toil's subjection—
Only through Man redeemed comes Art's true resurrection!
Did Egypt build the pyramids, and baptize
Their walls with half a nation's sacrifice?—
Behold! self-immolated, Egypt dies!
Was Greece thro' Helot toil made half-divine?
Lo! the Necropolis is her last sad shrine.
Did Rome o'er trampled men aspire to power?
Her life departed in her triumph hour.
No work—no nation—can exist, which rears
Its sinful fame on servile toil and tears.
If Labor's sinewy frame be shackled down
By law or custom—fetter, scourge, or frown,—
If it be not, as God's great laws decree,
And Nature teaches,—if it be not FREE—
Then is ALL toil a doom—a plague—a curse—
Than which the human soul can dream no worse!
Their walls with half a nation's sacrifice?—
Behold! self-immolated, Egypt dies!
Was Greece thro' Helot toil made half-divine?
Lo! the Necropolis is her last sad shrine.
Did Rome o'er trampled men aspire to power?
Her life departed in her triumph hour.
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Its sinful fame on servile toil and tears.
If Labor's sinewy frame be shackled down
By law or custom—fetter, scourge, or frown,—
If it be not, as God's great laws decree,
And Nature teaches,—if it be not FREE—
Then is ALL toil a doom—a plague—a curse—
Than which the human soul can dream no worse!
THE GOSPEL REVEALED.
Spurn not, O Priest! these tidings unto Toil!
Turn thee, O King! no more thy race despoil!
Claim ye, O Slaves! your birthright to the soil!
For this great Gospel, through which men are free,
Burned upon laborers' lips, in Galilee,
And flash'd above the Mount of Calvary!
Toil was evangelized by the glorious thought
Of Joseph's Son, who with his father wrought.
Labor was deified, when, through jibes and scorn,
The ponderous Cross was by its Victim borne:
The Gospel of the Poor was sent from Him
Whose ministers are the tireless cherubim!
Turn thee, O King! no more thy race despoil!
Claim ye, O Slaves! your birthright to the soil!
For this great Gospel, through which men are free,
Burned upon laborers' lips, in Galilee,
And flash'd above the Mount of Calvary!
Toil was evangelized by the glorious thought
Of Joseph's Son, who with his father wrought.
Labor was deified, when, through jibes and scorn,
The ponderous Cross was by its Victim borne:
The Gospel of the Poor was sent from Him
Whose ministers are the tireless cherubim!
Behold we trace it in the changing skies—
And from the laboring earth its teachings rise;
We hear it in the ocean—and its form
Is mirrored in the drapery of the storm.
And from the laboring earth its teachings rise;
We hear it in the ocean—and its form
Is mirrored in the drapery of the storm.
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THE MYSTERY OF CREATION.
My soul hath sought this Gospel, and upsoared
Through wondrous space, until its glance explored
The wilderness of worlds, that, ever in motion,
Gleam through the starry sky, like Phosphor's light in ocean!
Through wondrous space, until its glance explored
The wilderness of worlds, that, ever in motion,
Gleam through the starry sky, like Phosphor's light in ocean!
Light rayed itself from out my heart, like wings,
Bearing me upward; and the mist, which clings
Around all human knowledge, was dispelled:
The works of God I saw—the Universe beheld!
Bearing me upward; and the mist, which clings
Around all human knowledge, was dispelled:
The works of God I saw—the Universe beheld!
Each atom—of that illimitable Thought,
Which men call Universe; where God hath wrought
The eternal fabric of which Lives are shreds;
And woven the mystic woof of which our Souls are threads.
Which men call Universe; where God hath wrought
The eternal fabric of which Lives are shreds;
And woven the mystic woof of which our Souls are threads.
O, ye may measure stars—ye may engirth,
With your wise subtleties, this mortal earth!—
Ye may compute the breadth of zones, and number
The cycles man shall live, ere yet the earth he cumber.
With your wise subtleties, this mortal earth!—
Ye may compute the breadth of zones, and number
The cycles man shall live, ere yet the earth he cumber.
But can ye bound Infinitude? or term
Eternity?—Our trembling sense infirm
Faints with the awful idea of that Being,
Alpha and Omega—Omnipotent! All-seeing!
Eternity?—Our trembling sense infirm
Faints with the awful idea of that Being,
Alpha and Omega—Omnipotent! All-seeing!
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And—throned upon Infinity—God creates:
Never—through all Eternity—abates
The working of His brain; and ceaseless rolls
Out from His boundless heart the ocean of men's souls!
Never—through all Eternity—abates
The working of His brain; and ceaseless rolls
Out from His boundless heart the ocean of men's souls!
And, in each soul-created, God renews
The likeness of Himself, and re-imbues
Unsentient matter with the eternal sense:
Thus is He multiplied through Nature's elements!
The likeness of Himself, and re-imbues
Unsentient matter with the eternal sense:
Thus is He multiplied through Nature's elements!
And Man, through all his being, duplicates
The life which God hath given him—he CREATES
In every thought, word, action of his life!
All are immortal—all with good or evil rife.
The life which God hath given him—he CREATES
In every thought, word, action of his life!
All are immortal—all with good or evil rife.
Thought is the soul of mind—words intermingle
A thousand souls, which once in mind were single;—
But DEEDS are rivets, on the mighty chain
Of God with Man, or blows, which sunder it in twain.
A thousand souls, which once in mind were single;—
But DEEDS are rivets, on the mighty chain
Of God with Man, or blows, which sunder it in twain.
Create, O Man! thy heaven! The Eternal Maker
Invites thee still with Him to be partaker.
Fore-measuring all things, all things He ordains—
And yet no thought, no deed, of thine restrains.
Invites thee still with Him to be partaker.
Fore-measuring all things, all things He ordains—
And yet no thought, no deed, of thine restrains.
Free actor, thou, O, Man! The Almighty Cause
Projected Nature, and confirmed Her laws:
Thee, then, he called, and, faithful to his Plan,
Made Nature's self subservient unto Man!
Projected Nature, and confirmed Her laws:
Thee, then, he called, and, faithful to his Plan,
Made Nature's self subservient unto Man!
86
All elements are thine—all agents render
Their skill to thee—to thee their forces tender.
The Earth thou tread'st,—thy curb is on the Sea:
The Air is chained—the Fire is yoked—for thee!
Their skill to thee—to thee their forces tender.
The Earth thou tread'st,—thy curb is on the Sea:
The Air is chained—the Fire is yoked—for thee!
And thou, O Man!—free-souled, free-acting still—
Thy Maker formed thee—yields thee to thy will:
O'er-watchful, then, He marks thy changing fate,
But leaves thee, still, ITS CHANGES to create!
Thy Maker formed thee—yields thee to thy will:
O'er-watchful, then, He marks thy changing fate,
But leaves thee, still, ITS CHANGES to create!
| Duganne's Poetical Works | |