 | The various writings of Cornelius Mathews |  |
XV.
THE REFORMER.
Man of the Future! on the eager headland standing,
Gazing far off into the outer sea,
Thine eye, the darkness and the billows rough commanding,
Beholds a shore, bright as the Heaven itself may be;
Where temples, cities, homes and haunts of men,
Orchards and fields spread out in orderly array,
Invite the yearning soul to thither flee,
And there to spend in boundless peace its happier day,
Gazing far off into the outer sea,
Thine eye, the darkness and the billows rough commanding,
Beholds a shore, bright as the Heaven itself may be;
Where temples, cities, homes and haunts of men,
Orchards and fields spread out in orderly array,
Invite the yearning soul to thither flee,
And there to spend in boundless peace its happier day,
By passion and the force of earnest throught,
Borne up and platformed at a height,
Where 'gainst thy feet the force of earth and heaven are brought;
Yet, so into the frame of empire wrought,
Thou, stout man, can'st not thence be severed,
Till ruled and rulers, fiends or men, are taught
And feel the truths by thee delivered.
Borne up and platformed at a height,
Where 'gainst thy feet the force of earth and heaven are brought;
Yet, so into the frame of empire wrought,
Thou, stout man, can'st not thence be severed,
Till ruled and rulers, fiends or men, are taught
And feel the truths by thee delivered.
Seize by its horns the shaggy Past,
Full of uncleanness; Heave with mountain cast,
Its carcase down the black and wide abyss—
That opens day and night its gulfy precipice,
By faded empires, projects old and dead
For ever in its noisy hunger fed:
But rush not, therefore, with a brutish blindness
Against the 'stablished bulwarks of the world;
Kind be thyself although unkindness
Thy race to ruin dark and suffering long, has hurled.
For many days of light, and smooth repose,
Twixt storm and weathery sadness intervene—
Thy course is Nature's; on thy triumph flows,
Assured, like hers, though noiseless and serene.
Full of uncleanness; Heave with mountain cast,
Its carcase down the black and wide abyss—
That opens day and night its gulfy precipice,
By faded empires, projects old and dead
For ever in its noisy hunger fed:
But rush not, therefore, with a brutish blindness
Against the 'stablished bulwarks of the world;
Kind be thyself although unkindness
Thy race to ruin dark and suffering long, has hurled.
For many days of light, and smooth repose,
Twixt storm and weathery sadness intervene—
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Assured, like hers, though noiseless and serene.
Wake not at midnight and proclaim the day,
When lightning only flashes o'er the way:
Pauses and starts and strivings towards an end,
Are not a birth, although a god's birth they portend.
Be patient therefore like the old broad earth
That bears the guilty up, and through the night
Conducts them gently to the dawning light—
Thy silent hours shall have as great a birth!
When lightning only flashes o'er the way:
Pauses and starts and strivings towards an end,
Are not a birth, although a god's birth they portend.
Be patient therefore like the old broad earth
That bears the guilty up, and through the night
Conducts them gently to the dawning light—
Thy silent hours shall have as great a birth!
| The various writings of Cornelius Mathews | |