Classic Poem

God who leadest human creatures safe through many a path and winding way;
Thou whose word the leaping thunders and the foam-sprent warrior-waves obey:

Thou whom not alone the roses worship with their tender-glowing bloom
But, besides, the waving grasses gleaming round about the granite tomb:

Thou whom all the ancient nations sought, and brought their gifts to thine abode;
Thou through whom the heart of Jesus with the eternal perfect pity glowed:

Thou through whom our country's glory reached its splendid perfect flower indeed;
Thou who gavest to the people Love for sign and Freedom for a creed:

Still thou livest,—livest surely? God, thou art not dead, as some men say,
Men who preach the saws of Science and they win the people to their way?

Nay, thou livest, livest surely. Far beyond the fiery whirl of fate
Thou the God of Love art thronéd, King on whom the giant ages wait.

Through a thousand mystic voices thou hast spoken to unnumbered years,
Thrilled the heart of priest and singer, thrilled man's fervent soul to fire or tears.

Thou wast in the old religions, God of glittering war and white-robed peace;
Thou wast in the face of Venus, thou didst tread with her the shores of Greece.

Thou wast in the buoyant waters leaping round her rising from the wave;
To her hands their deathless magic thine hand full of stranger magic gave.

In the gods and in the people thou the Spirit of all things hast thy part;
Thou wast in the ancient temples, in the splendours of Athenian Art.

All true souls and noble found thee, thee the unchanging God, the deathless One,
In the million stars of midnight, in the flowers, the sea-waves and the sun.

In strange shrines of many a goddess thou wast hidden, thou the God supreme,
Light behind the deadly darkness, truth within the interminable dream.

Never one soul quite escaped thee. Thou its Maker hadst a word for each.
Through wild sins and wild contritions thou hadst ceaseless power to raise and teach.

Thou didst thunder over Sinai, thou didst stablish David on his throne;
Through the starless midnight darkness thou didst speak to Solomon, alone.
Hast not thou, thou Power omniscient, watching over stars that crowd the skies
Still reserved the light of passion, unrevealed save only in woman's eyes?

Lovelier than the leagues of starlight, purer than the heavens where great suns gleam,
Is the light that passion kindles, even as truth is lovelier than the dream.


Thou art deep within all pleasure—thou who scatterest on the hills the snows
Art as well within the fragrance of the luscious crimson-petalled rose.

Thou who o'er the viewless summits passest like the thunder-footed storm
Art as well within the valleys,—grace thou givest to the wood-nymph's form.

Thou wast in the soul of Phidias when within the imperishable stone
Deep he graved eternal beauty,—and the dream of beauty yet unknown.

For in every noble statue sleeps a dream of wonder unrevealed,—
Something that the stars have seen not, something that the sweet earth cannot yield.

From the statue's lips of triumph comes a murmur, “Not yet all is done!
Lovelier than all earthly beauty waits beyond the moonlight and the sun.”

Thou, immortal Spirit of beauty, speakest thus through lips of flawless stone,
And through other than the statue's, through the model's soft lips' living tone.

While the man can mould the statue, thou alone with loving touch and warm
Canst enshrine thy dream of beauty in the woman's lovelier living form.

Thou the eternal heavens' own Sculptor sendest forth the products of thy skill,
Shapes that haunt man's heart for ever, eyes that dazzle and the lips that thrill.


Through all poets thou hast spoken, leading each along the darkling ways;
Crowning each with thorns of sorrow, then with star-crowns woven of deathless rays.

Unto each some word eternal thou dost give—the power to raise or smite;
Music of the golden morning or the dark storm-music of the night:

Power to speak thy timeless message on man's planet to the sons of time;
Power to make love's dream immortal, power to make a moment's bliss sublime.

Fragrance of a million blossoms on the breezes every morning dies,
But the flower within the poem blooms beneath thought's ever-radiant skies.

Fragrance of unnumbered passions on the wind of time is wafted far,
But a mighty poem's passion, changeless, shares the life of sun or star.


From the hell where woman struggles, lurid hell where ceaseless bale-fires gleam,
She shall rise, superb, immortal, changing into love's wild passion's dream.

Though for ages vast, unnumbered, she content has been half queen, half slave,
Heedless how or what she squandered, so that only her generous instinct gave:

Though for ages she has given, winning not the high return she sought,
Yet her sweet deferred pure triumph waits her in the dawning age of thought.

Thou who hast watched her tribulation, watched her anguish through the darkling years,
Spirit of love not only of passion, thou hast heard her moans and marked her tears.

Not one maid in Eastern harem sold and wrecked that man's fierce lust might reign
But shall win rich restitution, in some sphere where joy shall balance pain.

Not one girl in modern London ruined and soiled for some man's passing whim
But shall in the end be queenlike, bring deliverance it may be to him.

Thou dost keep divinest record: not one silent sacrifice of tears
But shall see its hope accomplished, after it may be twice a thousand years.

Time is nought, and thou art deathless—thou on whom thou willest canst bestow
Life on life in which to blossom, endless years in which the soul may grow.

Flowers on earth for a million ages, these have lit the ways with boundless bloom,—
Thou the Spirit of love retainest still thy fairest flowers enwrapped in gloom.

Woman's is the unknown future—man's has been the long past dark with crime;
Now through many a golden era woman's heart shall make man's heart sublime.

She shall bring the earth redemption,—fit our star to hold communion high
With bright sister-stars and sinless, glittering spotless in the untainted sky.

For all stars may hold communion, all the planets' souls are doubtless one;
Star to star may speak responsive, moon to white-souled moon, and sun to sun.

Woman on our earth may doubtless render earth as pure and man as free
As pure stars and starry races hidden in blue mist on the astral sea.

Not alone on earth thou toilest: in the countless stars that traverse night
Thou the Spirit of all art regnant, filling all the cloudy tracts with light.

Rivers flashing hues of sapphire, emerald groves and opal-coasted isles,
Waves that welcome ardent sunrise with a thousand golden-rippling smiles:

Boundless plains and giant forests, mountains lordlier than our hearts can dream,
These upon the stars thou rulest—icy wastes on phantom-planets gleam.

Titan Andes, Himalayas, heights that dazzle with perpetual snows,
Bowers wherein the flowers fade never, deathless lily, never-darkening rose:

Bowers wherein pure love speaks ever, love more soft-voiced than our planet hears,
Shores where passion's richer rapture thrills far tenderer souls to sweeter tears:

These in unknown realms thou swayest, realms where suns are scattered like the grains
Flying abroad in windy harvests, torn by tempest from the golden wains.

Lo! the brain of man turns dizzy at the thought of sky-leagues stretching far;
Never gate nor wall nor barrier—past each outpost still another star.

Is there any farthest outpost, any silent sentry-star that waits
Guardian on the dim sky's borders, watchful at the invulnerable gates?

Nay! beyond, another sentry—still another, ceaseless through the night;
Still another's bright spear glittering, still another helm of fiery light.

Human brain may well turn giddy, human thought will never reach the goal:
Yet the Ruler of the star-waste hath his temple also in the soul.