Part 13 (1/2)

Alas! the urn no longer stands Within the little alcove dim; Gone also are the faithful hands That hung sweet roses on its rim; And vanished even is the bust Which watched above the sacred dust.

Yet still its words of love survive The shocks and tragedies of time, And bid our drooping hearts revive, Inculcating the faith sublime That, while the urn in ruin lies, Love soars immortal to the skies.

DISCOURAGEMENT

”Forward, comrades, ever forward”!

Shout the leaders in the fight; ”Scale the ramparts! Plant the standard On the citadel of light!

”Break the chains of superst.i.tion!

Crush corruption! Free the slave!

Plant the flowers of love and mercy On the past's ensanguined grave!

”Toward the strongholds of oppression Lead again the hope forlorn!

See! the night is disappearing; Lo! the coming of the morn”!

Bravely said; yet men have spoken Just as bravely long ago, When the hair had raven blackness Which is now as white as snow;

And alas! how many thousands Have responded to that call, Whose forgotten corpses moulder By the still beleaguered wall!

Forms have changed and words have altered, But the things remain the same; Still doth man enslave his brother,-- Always master, save in name.

Still are G.o.d's dumb creatures tortured, Racial hatreds never cease, And man's greatest self-delusion Is the s.h.i.+bboleth of ”Peace.”

Hence, while youth, with hope and courage, Loudly vents its n.o.ble rage; Age, profoundly disillusioned, Sad and silent leaves the stage.

Round the cla.s.sic Inland Ocean, Where the Roman world held sway, Storied sh.o.r.es are iridescent With the splendor of decay;

Persia, Syria, Egypt, Athens, Proud Byzantium, Carthage, Spain,-- In their mournful desolation Hear the old sea's sad refrain:--

”Rising, falling, waxing, waning, Men and nations come and go; Reaching glory, then declining, As the ebb succeeds the flow.

”All florescence is but fleeting: Each in turn enjoys its day, Hath its seed-time, bud and flower, And as surely fades away.

”Growth, maturity, decadence,-- Form mankind's unchanging role, And the dead past's sombre ruins Are prophetic of the whole.”

”Nay,” you cry in bitter protest, ”Shall man have no perfect end, No millennial culmination, Toward which all the ages tend?

”Must all races prove decadent?

Shall not one produce in time Perfect types of men and women In a world devoid of crime?”

Scan the lurid past, and tell us On what ground you base your hopes!

Does an endless line of failures Warrant brighter horoscopes?

Hath not every race and nation Sunk from grandeur to decay?

What shall save us, then, from ruin?

Are we better men than they?