THE AGES come and go, | |
| The Centuries pass as Years; | |
| My hair is white as the snow, | |
| My feet are weary and slow, | |
| The earth is wet with my tears! | 5 |
| The kingdoms crumble and fall | |
| Apart, like a ruined wall, | |
| Or a bank that is undermined | |
| By a river’s ceaseless flow, | |
| And leave no trace behind! | 10 |
| The world itself is old; | |
| The portals of Time unfold | |
| On hinges of iron, that grate | |
| And groan with the rust and the weight, | |
| Like the hinges of a gate | 15 |
| That hath fallen to decay; | |
| But the evil doth not cease; | |
| There is war instead of peace, | |
| Instead of love there is hate; | |
| And still I must wander and wait, | 20 |
| Still I must watch and pray, | |
| Not forgetting in whose sight, | |
| A thousand years in their flight | |
| Are as a single day. | |
| |
| The life of man is a gleam | 25 |
| Of light that comes and goes | |
| Like the course of the Holy Stream, | |
| The cityless river, that flows | |
| From fountains no one knows, | |
| Through the Lake of Galilee, | 30 |
| Through forests and level lands, | |
| Over rocks, and shallows, and sands | |
| Of a wilderness wild and vast, | |
| Till it findeth its rest at last | |
| In the desolate Dead Sea! | 35 |
| But alas! alas for me, | |
| Not yet this rest shall be! | |
| |
| What, then! doth Charity fail? | |
| Is Faith of no avail? | |
| Is Hope blown out like a light | 40 |
| By a gust of wind in the night? | |
| The clashing of creeds, and the strife | |
| Of the many beliefs, that in vain | |
| Perplex man’s heart and brain, | |
| Are nought but the rustle of leaves, | 45 |
| When the breath of God upheaves | |
| The boughs of the Tree of Life, | |
| And they subside again! | |
| And I remember still | |
| The words, and from whom they came, | 50 |
| Not he that repeateth the name, | |
| But he that doeth the will! | |
| |
| And Him evermore I behold | |
| Walking in Galilee, | |
| Through the cornfield’s waving gold, | 55 |
| In hamlet, in wood, and in wold, | |
| By the shores of the Beautiful Sea. | |
| He toucheth the sightless eyes; | |
| Before him the demons flee; | |
| To the dead he sayeth: Arise! | 60 |
| To the living: Follow me! | |
| And that voice still soundeth on | |
| From the centuries that are gone, | |
| To the centuries that shall be! | |
| |
| From all vain pomps and shows, | 65 |
| From the pride that overflows, | |
| And the false conceits of men; | |
| From all the narrow rules | |
| And subtleties, of Schools, | |
| And the craft of tongue and pen: | 70 |
| Bewildered in its search, | |
| Bewildered with the cry: | |
| Lo, here! lo, there, the Church! | |
| Poor, sad Humanity | |
| Through all the dust and heat | 75 |
| Turns back with bleeding feet, | |
| By the weary road it came, | |
| Unto the simple thought | |
| By the Great Master taught, | |
| And that remaineth still: | 80 |
| Not he that repeateth the name, | |
But he that doeth the will!
THE END. | |
