 | [To young spirits, in] The fountain |  |
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TO YOUNG SPIRITS.
Brethren in thought and years!
Ye on whose brows the morning splendors gleam—
Who look on skies undimmed by cloudy fears,
And changed by sunrise to a golden dream;
Or ye whose lips, in childhood's tender day,
The cup of suffering and of wo have known,
Pause for a moment on your hurrying way!
List to a kindred tone!
Ye on whose brows the morning splendors gleam—
Who look on skies undimmed by cloudy fears,
And changed by sunrise to a golden dream;
Or ye whose lips, in childhood's tender day,
The cup of suffering and of wo have known,
Pause for a moment on your hurrying way!
List to a kindred tone!
Come! ye are young and strong;
Give then your strength to Freedom and to Truth,
Till the great throne of many-visaged Wrong
Trembles beneath the ardent fire of Youth—
Till his large empire, like a mountain old,
Quakes with the heavings of the flame below,
And, sundered, crashing from its long-kept hold,
Falls with one mighty throe!
Give then your strength to Freedom and to Truth,
Till the great throne of many-visaged Wrong
Trembles beneath the ardent fire of Youth—
Till his large empire, like a mountain old,
Quakes with the heavings of the flame below,
And, sundered, crashing from its long-kept hold,
Falls with one mighty throe!
Oh! 'tis a glorious strife!
Life-long and toilsome must the combat be,
But for the fallen, there is nobler life,
And for the victors, immortality!
He who has battled for his struggling race,
Heedless of what the world might name renown
Shall from the glory of his lofty place
On kings and thrones look down!
Life-long and toilsome must the combat be,
But for the fallen, there is nobler life,
And for the victors, immortality!
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Heedless of what the world might name renown
Shall from the glory of his lofty place
On kings and thrones look down!
There's many a toil to bear—
Scoffing and scorn from many a meaner soul,
Heart-sickening struggles with the phantom Care,
And oft despair to reach the far-off goal.
Ye must in silence and in patience wait
For the glad ripening of the tardy seed,
While Avarice, 'midst his golden piles elate,
Reviles the noble deed!
Scoffing and scorn from many a meaner soul,
Heart-sickening struggles with the phantom Care,
And oft despair to reach the far-off goal.
Ye must in silence and in patience wait
For the glad ripening of the tardy seed,
While Avarice, 'midst his golden piles elate,
Reviles the noble deed!
Yet bravely bear it all,
So long as Vice, with bloody chariot-wheel,
Drives o'er the groaning world she keeps in thrall,
And man forgets that fellow-man can feel!
The wronged and suffering, from their darkened sphere,
Will aid you with their eloquence of prayer,
And hearts, whose wishes reach th' Almighty's ear,
Will ask your blessing there!
So long as Vice, with bloody chariot-wheel,
Drives o'er the groaning world she keeps in thrall,
And man forgets that fellow-man can feel!
The wronged and suffering, from their darkened sphere,
Will aid you with their eloquence of prayer,
And hearts, whose wishes reach th' Almighty's ear,
Will ask your blessing there!
Not with a warrior tread
Be your proud marching, o'er the waking world—
Not over plains of dying and of dead,
Where the swift death on flaming bolts is hurled!
Speak, in your manhood, words whose potent fire
Lights the dark bosom with a sudden glow;
Bid the crushed spirit from its bonds aspire—
Teach it, itself to know!
Be your proud marching, o'er the waking world—
Not over plains of dying and of dead,
Where the swift death on flaming bolts is hurled!
Speak, in your manhood, words whose potent fire
Lights the dark bosom with a sudden glow;
Bid the crushed spirit from its bonds aspire—
Teach it, itself to know!
Touch with a trusting hand
The chords of feeling in the deadened heart,
And by the lonely and the wretched stand,
Drying their bitter tear-drops as they start.
Oh! by that God whose breath inspires the soul,
That work of mercy will not be in vain,
But every kindness to the suffering, roll
In blessing, back again!
The chords of feeling in the deadened heart,
And by the lonely and the wretched stand,
Drying their bitter tear-drops as they start.
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That work of mercy will not be in vain,
But every kindness to the suffering, roll
In blessing, back again!
Brothers, let us arouse!
Shall we be bound in earth's benumbing thrall?
Is there not freedom written on our brows?—
Then let us keep it, or in losing, fall!
Say, what is Freedom, but the power to be
Unled by Error from the soul's pure light,
And but to God and Truth to bow the knee
In Hope, forever bright?
Shall we be bound in earth's benumbing thrall?
Is there not freedom written on our brows?—
Then let us keep it, or in losing, fall!
Say, what is Freedom, but the power to be
Unled by Error from the soul's pure light,
And but to God and Truth to bow the knee
In Hope, forever bright?
Feel we not, deep within,
A spirit mighty, deathless and sublime;
Whose high, pure nature, bids us scorn all sin,
Whose power can yield defiance unto Time?
Are there not longings for a loftier crown
Than e'er was wreathed from Fame's unfading bough,
Which, with its blaze of ever-fresh renown,
Shall gild the faithful brow?
A spirit mighty, deathless and sublime;
Whose high, pure nature, bids us scorn all sin,
Whose power can yield defiance unto Time?
Are there not longings for a loftier crown
Than e'er was wreathed from Fame's unfading bough,
Which, with its blaze of ever-fresh renown,
Shall gild the faithful brow?
Come, then, ere morn be gone!
Ere the pure blossoms of the spirit fade—
Ere in the wildering crowd, as life rolls on,
The heart from all its better hopes hath strayed!
Shake from the soul each sin-alluring snare
That turns to earthly flame its heaven-born fires,
And men, the glorious path with you to share,
Will leave their low desires!
Ere the pure blossoms of the spirit fade—
Ere in the wildering crowd, as life rolls on,
The heart from all its better hopes hath strayed!
Shake from the soul each sin-alluring snare
That turns to earthly flame its heaven-born fires,
And men, the glorious path with you to share,
Will leave their low desires!
| [To young spirits, in] The fountain | |