 | Thought and word |  |
75
FORWARD.
I.
Ever streams the living galeTo some forward goal,
Forward, forward bends our sail,
Forward strains our soul.
II.
Grandly of the ways of men,Guesses childhood. But since then
Master Time has made me free,
Step by step in swift advance,
Of manhood's full freemasonry;
And its mysteries prove to be
Blanker far than ignorance.
III.
Men have a narrow range of sight,A little peristyle of light,
A world of thought confused and crude,
Where chaos still is unsubdued.
Soothed in daily pain and sorrow,
With nursery promise for to-morrow,
They dream of corners unexplored
Where the wealth of life is stored,
Something to be shown at last,
Something to be known at last,
Beyond these poor toys of the Present;
Moon of hope, for ever crescent,
Seems to grow, is never grown.
76
IV.
Yet for the weakest one of these,All the Arabian mysteries
Within the world's most credulous scope,
Afford not space enough for Hope
To build the Future's temple in:
At last they end where those begin,
Who searching with a mountain-view
The old earth-world all round and round,
And nowhere finding open ground,
At once send Hope on strong wings forth
Into a world almost as new as birth,—
Hope saith, almost as new.
V.
And so at last, not much afraid,Forward, file on file, we march
Into the gloom which takes our breath;
Nay when the Sun with glance divine
Upon that tearful cloud may shine,
Behold a new triumphal arch—
Yea, see the very Door of Death
Out of a Rainbow made!
| Thought and word | |