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BUILDERS OF THE STATE |
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 | The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder |  |
BUILDERS OF THE STATE
Who builds the state? Not he whose power
Rooted in wrong, in gold intrenched,
Makes him the regent of the hour;
The eternal light cannot be quenched:
Rooted in wrong, in gold intrenched,
Makes him the regent of the hour;
The eternal light cannot be quenched:
This shall outlive his little span;
Shine fierce upon each tainted scheme;
Shall show where shame blots all the plan;
The treachery in the dazzling dream.
Shine fierce upon each tainted scheme;
Shall show where shame blots all the plan;
The treachery in the dazzling dream.
343
He builds the state who builds on truth,—
Not he who, crushing toward his aim,
Strikes conscience from the throne, and ruth,
To win a dark, unpiteous fame.
Not he who, crushing toward his aim,
Strikes conscience from the throne, and ruth,
To win a dark, unpiteous fame.
Not he, tho' master among men,
Empire and ages all his thought—
Tho' like an eagle be his ken:
Down to the ground shall all be brought.
Empire and ages all his thought—
Tho' like an eagle be his ken:
Down to the ground shall all be brought.
For this I hold, and shall for aye,
Till Heaven sends death, that they who sow
Hate, and the blood of brothers, they
Shall harvest hate and want and woe—
Till Heaven sends death, that they who sow
Hate, and the blood of brothers, they
Shall harvest hate and want and woe—
The curse of Earth's dread agonies
Whereto they added, in their hour,
And all the unheeded tears and cries
They caused in lust of lawless power.
Whereto they added, in their hour,
And all the unheeded tears and cries
They caused in lust of lawless power.
He builds the state who to that task
Brings strong, clean hands, and purpose pure;
Who wears not virtue as a mask;
He builds the state that shall endure—
Brings strong, clean hands, and purpose pure;
Who wears not virtue as a mask;
He builds the state that shall endure—
The state wherein each loyal son
Holds as a birthright from true sires
Treasures of honor, nobly won,
And freedom's never-dying fires.
Holds as a birthright from true sires
Treasures of honor, nobly won,
And freedom's never-dying fires.
| The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | |