Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold :: :: University of Virginia Library

From the wideness and the wonderment of Space,
In the blindness of the lands,
While the world apparelled in its virgin grace
Lifted up to Heaven dumb hands;
There was smoke upon the altar
And a veil above the eyes
And athwart the azure skies,
Prayer was vain and seemed to palter
With the flesh that could but falter
Forth its heart in broken cries;
Not one flash of simple truth a child might con,
And more reverend age would fan
To the fulness of a plan,
Linking with his Maker man,
No anointed guide to whisper, “Pass it on, Pass it on!”

In the desert where he communed with the stars
And the dreadful silence trod,
Came the first glimpse as through iron prison bars
Of the solemn Light called God,
And the prophet's heart was shaken
By the shadow which he saw,
In the knowledge that was awe
And when seen was not forsaken,
While his life did all awaken
To the Learning of the Law;
And a Voice from out the Vision, as it shone
With a glory not of earth,
And around him threw a girth
On the desolation's dearth,
Breathed as softly as a secret, “Pass it on, Pass it on!”

In the bondage and the burden of the years
When in darkness rose the day,
And with travail of the sacrificial fears
Knelled the grim command to slay,

Pealed the prophet's cry of thunder
Down the ages with a call
Laying low the barrier wall
And red hands that gript their plunder,
Till the darkness burst asunder
Bringing rays of hope to all;
And to bold disciples, ere his time had gone,
He bequeathed the Torch of Flame
And the one Mysterious Name
Never to be dimmed by shame,
And with dying accents murmured, “Pass it on, Pass it on!”

In the visionary East where Truth was born
Of the starshine and the streams,
Where the Priest and Poet hailed the ruddy morn
Through a mist of golden dreams;
Rose the Fount of Fire in burning
Bosoms which had bridled still
Their indomitable will,
With an upward spirit spurning
Dust of earth and dimly turning
To the knowledge that would kill,
In the marble mystery called Babylon,
When the soul's sublime pretence
Sought and found its dark defence
In a dead magnificence,
Lo, the white-robed figures muttered, “Pass it on, Pass it on!”

In the splendour of the speculative West,
Where the busy curious brain
Bodied airy thoughts and in a rapturous rest
Beautified each pulse of pain;
Soared the mind to nobler stature
Wonderful and white and warm,
Snow and peace and flower and storm
Taken fresh from naked Nature,
And with art's new legislature
Moulded to a fairer form.

On the pure stone pages of the Parthenon
Beamed the holy Lamp of Light,
Spreading wings more broad and bright
Which essayed a loftier flight,
And the builders proudly chanted, “Pass it on, Pass it on!”

Oft it fell and faded, when it might not make
Head against the ribald shout
Hostile, but rekindled at the martyr's stake
Never could it quite go out;
Blood-stained fingers grasped the glory
Of that heritage of Light
In a second vaster sight,
Rose red maidens sighed the story,
And on heads of sages hoary
Fell that calm and crownèd might;
Kings assumed it as a mantle kings might don
Grander than a royal dress,
And it clothed the blank distress
With its lines of loveliness,
And the mouths of infants babbled, “Pass it on, Pass it on!”

Still in vestal purity and humble heart
And from children's prayerful eyes
Leapt the Truth, and made with more than art
Greener earth and bluer skies;
Lisping lips, and meditation
Of grey seers who wove of Time
All its secrets in one chime,
Bards whose night was revelation,
Saints with awful consecration,
Silence, left it more sublime.
Fed by faith, enriched with doubts august it shone
Forth a living Cross of Fire,
With an infinite desire
Ever upward to aspire,
And the world, like rolling waves cried, “Pass it on, Pass it on!”