THE ICONOCLAST.
A thousand years shall come and go,
A thousand years of night and day,
And man, through all their changing show,
His tragic drama still shall play.
A thousand years of night and day,
And man, through all their changing show,
His tragic drama still shall play.
Ruled by some fond ideal's power,
Cheated by passion or despair,
Still shall he waste life's trembling hour,
In worship vain, and useless prayer.
Cheated by passion or despair,
Still shall he waste life's trembling hour,
In worship vain, and useless prayer.
Ah! where are they who rose in might,
Who fired the temple and the shrine,
And hurled, through earth's chaotic night,
The helpless gods it deemed divine?
Who fired the temple and the shrine,
And hurled, through earth's chaotic night,
The helpless gods it deemed divine?
Cease, longing soul, thy vain desire!
What idol, in its stainless prime,
But falls, untouched of axe or fire,
Before the steady eyes of Time.
What idol, in its stainless prime,
But falls, untouched of axe or fire,
Before the steady eyes of Time.
