(The refrain is quoted by Edward Fitzgerald inone of his
Growing, growing, all the glory going;
Flashing out of fire and light, burning to a husk,
All the world's a-dying and failing in the dusk--
Growing, growing, all the glory
Rust is on the door-latch, ashes at the root,
Dry rot in the ridge-pole, canker in the fruit;
Growing, growing, all the glory
Plot, ye subtle statesmen,--a trace of melted wax;
Bind, ye haughty prelates,--a thread of ravelled flax;
Growing, growing, all the glory
March, ye mighty captains,--an eddy in the dust;
Rave, ye furious lovers,--a stain of crimson rust;
Growing, growing, all the glory
Pictures, poems, music--their essential soul,
Idle as dry roses in a silver bowl;
Growing, growing, all the glory
London is a hearsay,
Paris but a myth,
Rome a wand of sweet-flag withered to the pith;
Growing, growing, all the glory
Palsy shakes the planets, frost has chilled the sun,
In a crushing silence the All is dead and done.
Growing, growing, all the glory
Going, going, all the glory growing,
See it stir and flutter; that is singing, hark!
Singing in the caverns of the primal dark.
Going, going, all the glory
What is in the making, what immortal
Draws to its unfolding? 'Tis the Soul of man.
Going, going, all the glory
See it mount and hover, singing as it goes,
Battling with the darkness, nourished by its woes;
Going, going, all the glory
The bale-fires of midnight glaring in its eyes,
Past the phantom shadows see it rush and rise;
Going, going, all the glory
The supernal morning on its dewy wings,
Soaring and scorning the lust of earthy things;
Going, going, all the glory
The beatific noontide on its eager
Springing and singing to its halcyon rest;
Going, going, all the glory
In its starry vesture not a vestige of the sod,
Winging still and singing to the heart of God.
Going, going, all the glory growing._
