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Oh, the depth of their rejoicing, could they witness our delight!
Oh, the pity they would lavish on the Past's unhappy plight!
If but Socrates and Jesus once again should walk the earth
And perceive athwart the darkness morning's sweet and marvelous birth,
With what prescient exultation they would comprehend and wait
The fulfilled and perfect glory of the intellect's estate.
Should we cleave to ancient mummeries, or forever soar away,
Spreading wide the spirit's pinions in the sunshine of to-day?
Should we rest upon tradition and obey the old decrees,—
We, the children of the present, with its dawning excellencies?
Thrust aside the cumbering rubbish! Break from bondage and arise,
Soul of man with wings untrammeled, to the beauty of the skies!
Suffer not an hour shall vanish, ere in richly fertile ground
Golden seeds of strength and purpose for futurity abound.
Suffer not the fleeting moment from reality to fade,
Ere upon thy brow hath greatness set its seal and impress made!
Suffer not that childish wonder or the vigorous thought of youth
Be forever cramped and darkened by the shrouding of the truth!
It beset with orthodoxy—shaven priest or parson prim,
Singing psalms or chanting masses—sing thou Nature's nobler hymn,
Though with crucifix he menace—though severe the aid he calls
In the effort to convert you to the olden rituals,
Straight with telescope and spectrum overwhelm the foolish wight!
Aye! or thrust stupendous wonders, steam and lightning, on his sight.
Oh, the pity they would lavish on the Past's unhappy plight!
If but Socrates and Jesus once again should walk the earth
And perceive athwart the darkness morning's sweet and marvelous birth,
With what prescient exultation they would comprehend and wait
The fulfilled and perfect glory of the intellect's estate.
Should we cleave to ancient mummeries, or forever soar away,
Spreading wide the spirit's pinions in the sunshine of to-day?
Should we rest upon tradition and obey the old decrees,—
We, the children of the present, with its dawning excellencies?
Thrust aside the cumbering rubbish! Break from bondage and arise,
Soul of man with wings untrammeled, to the beauty of the skies!
Suffer not an hour shall vanish, ere in richly fertile ground
Golden seeds of strength and purpose for futurity abound.
Suffer not the fleeting moment from reality to fade,
Ere upon thy brow hath greatness set its seal and impress made!
Suffer not that childish wonder or the vigorous thought of youth
Be forever cramped and darkened by the shrouding of the truth!
It beset with orthodoxy—shaven priest or parson prim,
Singing psalms or chanting masses—sing thou Nature's nobler hymn,
Though with crucifix he menace—though severe the aid he calls
In the effort to convert you to the olden rituals,
Straight with telescope and spectrum overwhelm the foolish wight!
Aye! or thrust stupendous wonders, steam and lightning, on his sight.
