THE PROCESSION
Lo, 'tis a vast procession passing by
From the great amphitheater of the past!
The cloistered avenues of imagery
Glow with the flame-light from their torches cast,
The suns of centuries hurried to their goal,
Their goal the chaos of the past unveiled,
The moons and stars of years beyond control;
Are these their torches, these by distance paled?
No; from their hands the quenchless font of flame
Shines brightening over suns forever set,
The burning rays of Truth's immortal fame
Forbid the future, to the past forget;
From the great amphitheater of the past!
The cloistered avenues of imagery
Glow with the flame-light from their torches cast,
The suns of centuries hurried to their goal,
Their goal the chaos of the past unveiled,
The moons and stars of years beyond control;
Are these their torches, these by distance paled?
No; from their hands the quenchless font of flame
Shines brightening over suns forever set,
The burning rays of Truth's immortal fame
Forbid the future, to the past forget;
But who are they of silent, stately tread
Still moving on to martial music sweet
While careless hands by passing impulse led
Are scattering briers and blossoms at their feet?
O, these are they with whose life-victories
The past, the future lavishly endows
The breezes of the coming centuries
Shall lightly wave the laurels on their brows!
Still moving on to martial music sweet
While careless hands by passing impulse led
Are scattering briers and blossoms at their feet?
O, these are they with whose life-victories
The past, the future lavishly endows
The breezes of the coming centuries
Shall lightly wave the laurels on their brows!
Ye crowds, who watch the grand processions march
Along the cities' bannered avenues,
Turn to where vague oblivion's boughs o'er-arch
From whose deep shades this regal train issues
Down through the centuries crowded thoroughfares
Gathering fresh numbers in their sure advance,
Each face, the mark of life-won battle bears;
They come not here by fortune, fate or chance.
Along the cities' bannered avenues,
Turn to where vague oblivion's boughs o'er-arch
From whose deep shades this regal train issues
Down through the centuries crowded thoroughfares
Gathering fresh numbers in their sure advance,
Each face, the mark of life-won battle bears;
They come not here by fortune, fate or chance.
And will you turn from these again to gaze
On some clan ego's petty pageantry?
Time's grand centennials mark their day of days
For theirs is more than vaunted vain display;
On some clan ego's petty pageantry?
Time's grand centennials mark their day of days
For theirs is more than vaunted vain display;
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