EN dreaming kings, at odds with swift paced time, Would strike that banner down,
A nobler knight than ever writ or rhyme With fame’s bright wreath did
Through armed hosts bore it till it floated high Beyond the clouds, a light that cannot die! Ah, hero of our younger race! Great builder of a temple new! Ruler, who sought no lordly place! Warrior, who sheathed the sword he drew! Lover of men, who saw afar A world unmarred by want or war, Who knew the path, and yet forbore To tread, till all men should implore; Who saw the light, and led the way Where the gray would might greet the day; Father and leader, prophet sure, Whose will in vast works shall endure,
How shall we praise him on this day of days,
Great son of fame who has no need of praise? How shall we praise him?
Open wide the doors Of the fair temple whose broad base he laid. Through its white halls a shadowy
Of heroes moves o’er unresounding floors—Men whose brawned arms upraised these columns high, And reared the towers that vanish in the sky,—The strong who, having wrought, can never die.
ND, lo! leading a blessed host comes one Who held a warring nation in his heart; Who knew love’s agony, but had no part In love’s delight; whose mightly task was
Through blood and tears that we might walk in joy,
And this day’s rapture own no sad alloy.
Around him heirs of bliss, whose bright brows
Palm-leaves amid their laurels ever fair. Gaily they come, as though the
Beat out the call their glad hearts knew so well: Brothers once more, dear as of yore,
Who in a noble conflict nobly fell.
Their blood washed pure you banner in the sky, And quenched the brands laid ’neath these arches high—The brave who, having fought, can never die.
Then surging through the vastness rise once
The aureoled heirs of light, who onward
Through darksome times and trackless realms of ruth The flag of beauty and the torch of truth.
They tore the mask from the foul face of wrong; Even to God’s mysteries they dared aspire; High in the choir they built yon altar-fire,
And filled these aisles with color and with song: The ever-young, the unfallen, wreathing for time Fresh garlands of the seeming-vanished years;
Faces long luminous, remote, sublime, And shining brows still dewy with our tears.
Back with the old glad smile comes one we knew— We bade him rear our house of joy today. But Beauty opened wide her starry way,
And he passed on.
Bright champions of the true,
Soldiers of peace, seers, singers ever blest,—From the wide ether of a loftier quest Their winged souls throng our rites to glorify,—The wise who, having known, can never die.
OR, lo! the living God doth bare his arm. No more he makes his house of clouds and gloom. Lightly the shuttles move within his loom; Unveiled his thunder leaps to meet the storm.
From God’s right hand man takes the powers that sway A universe of stars.
He bows them down; he bids them go or stay; He tames them for his wars. He scans the burning paces of the sun,
And names the invisible orbs whose courses run Through the dim deeps of space.
He sees in dew upon a rose
The swarming legions of a monad world Begin life’s upward race. Voices of hope he hears Long dumb to his despair, And dreams of golden years Meet for a world so fair. For now Democracy doth wake and rise From the sweet sloth of youth.
By storms made strong, by many dreams made wise, He clasps the hand of Truth.
Through the armed nations lies his path of peace, The open book of knowledge in his hand.
Food to the starving, to the oppressed release, And love to all he bears from land to land. Before his march the barriers fall, The laws grow gentle at his call. His glowing breath blows far away The fogs that veil the coming day,— That wondrous
When earth shall sing as through the blue she
Laden with joy for all her thronging souls. Then shall want’s call to sin resound no more Across her teeming fields.
And pain shall sleep,
Soothed by brave science with her magic lore; And war no more shall bid the nations weep.
Then the worn chains shall slip from man’s desire, And ever higher and higher His swift foot shall aspire; Still deeper and more deep His soul its watch shall keep,
Till love shall make the world a holy place, Where knowledge dare unveil God’s very face.
Not yet the angels hear life’s last sweet song.
Music unutterably pure and
From earth shall rise to haunt the peopled skies, When the long march of time, Patient in birth and death, in growth and blight,
Shall lead man up through happy realms of light Unto his goal sublime.
World’s Columbian Exposition,
Chicago,
October 21, 1892
