Classic Poem

We have taught you bridle and saddle;
We have given you room to run;
Your steeds are bred
Of a hope high-fed
That we of our fathers won.
To us there are still the stirrups
Of days that we have known,
But soon you will ride,
Side by our side,
Bidding us hold our own.

The reins of the world you will grapple
Out of our curbing hands.
You will change our goal,
And Time, as a foal,
Will guide with new commands.
For so we did in our season,
And so your sons shall do,
Wherefore we pray
As you break away,
But this: ride Vision-true.

For not in the New lies peril.
We fear no youngest dream
That ever was
Of Utopias
Wrapped in supernal gleam.
But know, there is goalless running,
A spurring but for speed,
With an intense
Low love of sense
Blind to the world's soul-need.

Mount then a reproachless saddle,
We have given you room to run.
Your steeds are bred
Of a hope high-fed;
So see, ere the race be done,
That you yield the reins to your children
More near to the final goal.
And if we cry
As you pass us by,
Heed not—but achieve the Whole.