Classic Poem

Who will deny the dignity of that enduring toil
That penetrates earth's treasure-glooms, and ploughs her sunny soil!
That flings the shuttle, plies the hammer, guides the spinning wheel,
Moulds into shape the rugged ore, and bends the stubborn steel? —
That hews the mountain's rocky heart, piles the patrician dome,
Leans to some lone and lowly craft beneath a lowlier home?
And who shall say that my employ hath not the power to bless,
Or scorn the honest hand that wields the wonder-working Press?

With ready finger, skilful eye, and proudly-cheerful heart,
I link those potent signs that make the magic of my art;
Till word by word, and line by line, expands the goodly book,
Wherein a myriad eyes, ere long, with eager souls will look.
The lightning wit, the thunder-truth, the tempest passion there,
The touching tones of poesy, the lesson pure and fair,
Come forth upon the virgin page, receive their outward dress,
And, to inspire an anxious world, teem glowing from the Press!

What were the Poet's vision-life, his rapture-moods of mind,
His heavenward aspirations, and his yearnings undefined? —
His thoughts that drop like precious balm in many a kindred breast,
His gorgeous fancies, and his feelings gloriously expressed? —
What were his sentiments that make the hopeful spirit strong,
His fervent language for the right, his fearless 'gainst the wrong? —
What were they to the multitudes — a nation's strength — unless
They sprang in thrice ten thousand streams triumphant from the Press?

The star-seer — honour to his name — with art-assisted sight
May travel 'midst the pathless heavens, and trace their founts of light;
May weigh the planet, watch the comet, pierce those realms that be
Of suns that cluster thick as sands by Wonder's boundless sea;
May mark, with mute exalted joy, some nameless orb arise
To shine a lawful denizen of earth's familiar skies; —
But these sublime and silent toils how few could know or guess,
Save through the tongue that faileth not, the ever-voiceful Press!

The student of the universe, the searcher of its laws,
Whose soul mounts, link by link, the chain that leads to God, the Cause;
Who reads the old world's history in wondrous things that lay
Tombed in the rock-veins and the seas, ere man assumed his sway;
Who grasps the subtile elements and bows them to his will,
Tracks the deep mysteries of Mind, a nobler knowledge still;
Who adds to human peace and power, makes human darkness less,
What warms, applauds, and cheers him on? His own inspiring Press!

A proud preserver of the past, it gives us o'er again
A Tully's golden tide of speech, a Homer's stirring strain;
Reflects the glory of old Greece, Rome's stern heroic state,
And tells us how they sank beneath the shocks of Time and Fate:
Horatian wit, Virgilian grace, it keeps for us in store,
And every classic dream is fresh and lovely as of yore: —
How had these treasures been consigned to " dumb forgetfulness, "
But for the mirror of great things, the re-creating Press!

The Press! 'tis Freedom's myriad-voice re-echoed loud and long,
The Poet's world-wide utterance of high and hopeful song;
A trump that blows the barriers down where fear and falsehood lie,
A lever lifting yearning hearts still nearer to the sky!
In good men's hands it multiplies God's Oracles of Grace,
And puts them in a hundred tongues to glad the human race:
Oh! Christian truth! oh! Christian love! twin fires that burn to bless, —
What holier spirit than your own to purify the Press?

And yet it is an evil thing when wicked men combine
To use it for some selfish end, some fierce or dark design;
Who through it pour their poison-creeds, their principles of strife,
To cripple, darken, and degrade the social forms of life.
Oh! ye of strong and upright minds, from such unhallowed things
Defend the mighty instrument whence peaceful knowledge springs;
Make it the bulwark of all right, the engine of redress,
The altar of our country's hopes — a chainless, stainless Press!