 | Songs of the Seasons |  |
A LEAF OF MY CREED.
Nothing endued with vitality,
And destined for Immortality,
Becomes old in reality.
And destined for Immortality,
Becomes old in reality.
In the days of our altering
The step may have semblance of faltering,
The locks grow thin and hoary,
The voice turn into the treble,
The eyes into orbs of pebble,
But is there no Inner Glory?
The step may have semblance of faltering,
The locks grow thin and hoary,
The voice turn into the treble,
The eyes into orbs of pebble,
But is there no Inner Glory?
What though the brow be wrinkled,
And the fingers periwinkled,
The jaws bereft and toothless,
Time in itself is ruthless,
But never in verity youthless!
We excavate great cities,
And over them waste our pities,
And form laments and ditties—
Thebes, Luxor, for example,
Even Nineveh more ample,
Babylon and Jerusalem,
The cave in which Methusalem
Lies chested—ruins various,
And places multifarious.
And the fingers periwinkled,
The jaws bereft and toothless,
Time in itself is ruthless,
But never in verity youthless!
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And over them waste our pities,
And form laments and ditties—
Thebes, Luxor, for example,
Even Nineveh more ample,
Babylon and Jerusalem,
The cave in which Methusalem
Lies chested—ruins various,
And places multifarious.
We dig into futurity,
And link with dim obscurity
The Past and its peoples olden—
The ages held as golden,
Arcadian and Augustan,
To which in bardic fustian
We are so much beholden—
The ages of bronze and iron,
Cyclopean and Titanic,
When with a base mechanic
Toyed Venus and the Syren.
What find we but the key
To the future?—to fashion and faction—
To the present abiding reality,
And the restless wave of reaction?
Marry! the Past and its glories,
Marry! the Past with its stories
Of Valour, and Love, and Ambition,
Of Tyranny, Crime, and Sedition,
Of Hope and Despair, of Joy and of Sorrow,
Foreshadows in its history
The happenings of the morrow.
Can we make more of the mystery?
One generation goeth,
And lo! another succeedeth,
As o'er the billow that leadeth
Another billow floweth.
And link with dim obscurity
The Past and its peoples olden—
The ages held as golden,
Arcadian and Augustan,
To which in bardic fustian
We are so much beholden—
The ages of bronze and iron,
Cyclopean and Titanic,
When with a base mechanic
Toyed Venus and the Syren.
What find we but the key
To the future?—to fashion and faction—
To the present abiding reality,
And the restless wave of reaction?
Marry! the Past and its glories,
Marry! the Past with its stories
Of Valour, and Love, and Ambition,
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Of Hope and Despair, of Joy and of Sorrow,
Foreshadows in its history
The happenings of the morrow.
Can we make more of the mystery?
One generation goeth,
And lo! another succeedeth,
As o'er the billow that leadeth
Another billow floweth.
The Past in the Future mergeth,
And out of the Future resurgeth!
The Present is but a tittle,
Brave in its own esteem,
But less than the veriest little—
Of existence, haply the dream!
True! in our chrysalis state,
We regard it as all in all;
But in the scripture of Fate,
Conning the stars as we read,
The Present is thrown to the wall—
Such is a leaf of our creed!
And out of the Future resurgeth!
The Present is but a tittle,
Brave in its own esteem,
But less than the veriest little—
Of existence, haply the dream!
True! in our chrysalis state,
We regard it as all in all;
But in the scripture of Fate,
Conning the stars as we read,
The Present is thrown to the wall—
Such is a leaf of our creed!
| Songs of the Seasons | |