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Of mortals, party leaders, who are apt
To regulate the halting step of nations.
This chariot of ours rolls heavily,
Drawn onward by events, hampered by men,
And skilfully to guide it o'er rough roads
Requires a firm hand and mighty arm.
Often at night, beneath a lowering sky,
Avoiding ruts, we find the precipice;
For this great chariot, whose axles shriek
So that the world doth hear, can never be
Unharnessed, nor subjected to the drag.
It must go on and on and on forever!
And we must see the coursers which by God
Are harnessed to its solid pole of brass,
Ardent as on a day of battle, rear,
Despite the lash, and run, despite the curb;
And, crushing nations, capitals, and kings,
Its sightless wheels must go their destined way!
And when this heavy chariot is left
To roll at random, such a sea of blood
Doth flow in its deep tracks, that thirsty dogs
May quench their thirst therein. Then doth the world
Totter upon its base and kingdoms reel.
And so what care is needful to select
A coachman for this ponderous chariot
Whose rumbling none may hear and tremble not!
He must be doubly called to the high seat.
Upon his head the people's choice must fall
Together with God's choice; the diadem
Be there united to the tongue of fire.
Then is he numbered 'mongst those mortals rare
Whom from afar the nations of the earth
Follow like beacon-lights. But by stern toil
This lofty height is gained—not otherwise.