 | Studies from the Antique and Sketches from Nature |  |
111
CASSANDRA.
We live in a time of sorrow,
A time of sorrow and change,
When the Old goeth down to destruction,
And the New cometh sadly to life,
Unshapely, unwelcome, uncared for:
When Fact is at war with Idea,
And Thought hath no rest for her pinions,
No ground for her wandering feet.
A time, a time for tears to flow,
Like streams when the wild rain-tempests blow.
Woe to the nations! woe to them! woe!
A time of sorrow and change,
When the Old goeth down to destruction,
And the New cometh sadly to life,
Unshapely, unwelcome, uncared for:
When Fact is at war with Idea,
And Thought hath no rest for her pinions,
No ground for her wandering feet.
A time, a time for tears to flow,
Like streams when the wild rain-tempests blow.
Woe to the nations! woe to them! woe!
We live in a time of sorrow,
When Faith hath gone out from the earth,
And old Superstitions are dying:
When Opinion hath nothing to stand on
But stubble of dry mathematics,
And marrowless graveyards of logic:
When the few who can think look around them,
And sigh that all thinking is vain.
A time, a time for cheeks to glow
At the shame and the wrong of this world below.
Woe to the nations! woe to them! woe!
When Faith hath gone out from the earth,
And old Superstitions are dying:
112
But stubble of dry mathematics,
And marrowless graveyards of logic:
When the few who can think look around them,
And sigh that all thinking is vain.
A time, a time for cheeks to glow
At the shame and the wrong of this world below.
Woe to the nations! woe to them! woe!
We live in a time of sorrow,
When the ship that bears our lives
Hath neither crew nor pilot,
And drives through the merciless billows,
The cloud and the lightning above it,
The rocks and the whirlpools under;
When the men and the women and children,
Sit wringing their hands, imploring
The gods who alone can save.
A time, a time when the world shall know
How deep the roots of its misery grow.
Woe to the nations! woe to them! woe!
When the ship that bears our lives
Hath neither crew nor pilot,
And drives through the merciless billows,
The cloud and the lightning above it,
The rocks and the whirlpools under;
When the men and the women and children,
Sit wringing their hands, imploring
The gods who alone can save.
A time, a time when the world shall know
How deep the roots of its misery grow.
Woe to the nations! woe to them! woe!
113
We live in a time of sorrow,
When men have no thought but of money,
And carnal delights it will bring them,
Of mansions and horses and statues,
And power to out-glitter their neighbours;
When women are slaves to their raiment,
And prattle all day about nothings:
Unless they do worse, and out-babble
The preachers of bloodshed and hatred.
A time, a time when the high and low
Shall share in the pitiless overthrow.
Woe to the nations! woe to them! woe!
When men have no thought but of money,
And carnal delights it will bring them,
Of mansions and horses and statues,
And power to out-glitter their neighbours;
When women are slaves to their raiment,
And prattle all day about nothings:
Unless they do worse, and out-babble
The preachers of bloodshed and hatred.
A time, a time when the high and low
Shall share in the pitiless overthrow.
Woe to the nations! woe to them! woe!
We live in a time of sorrow,
When Mockery crushes Reason,
And heartless laughter settles
All doubts that the wise man feels.
When Reverence hath departed
And Worship is dead and buried;
Or sleeps, if it live at all,
In the souls of little children.
A time, a time when the ebb and flow
Murmur alike that the whirlwinds blow.
Woe to the nations! woe to them! woe!
When Mockery crushes Reason,
And heartless laughter settles
All doubts that the wise man feels.
When Reverence hath departed
And Worship is dead and buried;
Or sleeps, if it live at all,
In the souls of little children.
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Murmur alike that the whirlwinds blow.
Woe to the nations! woe to them! woe!
We live in a time of sorrow,
When statesmen and chiefs and rulers
Have nothing to build on but quicksands,
And nothing to do but to cobble
The ricketty, crazy thrones
That can scarcely bear their burdens.
And when priests at their mouldering altars,
No longer have faith in the doctrine
They preach for the lucre it brings them;
And scarcely conceal from the people
The fact that they prophesy falsely.
A time, a time for blood to flow,
And the earth to stagger to and fro,
Woe to the nations! woe to them! woe!
When statesmen and chiefs and rulers
Have nothing to build on but quicksands,
And nothing to do but to cobble
The ricketty, crazy thrones
That can scarcely bear their burdens.
And when priests at their mouldering altars,
No longer have faith in the doctrine
They preach for the lucre it brings them;
And scarcely conceal from the people
The fact that they prophesy falsely.
A time, a time for blood to flow,
And the earth to stagger to and fro,
Woe to the nations! woe to them! woe!
| Studies from the Antique and Sketches from Nature | |