Classic Poem

Since the world's turbulent prime
One war has never ceased — the war with Time:
Our one right war of conquest, yielding spoil
Of years, of hours, of minutes. Why this toil
To be companion to the cloud,
To whisper with the Antipodes,
And, where no blade had ever plowed,
To carve a path for argosies?
Why should we win, at equal cost
Of take and give,
Of gained and lost,
Leisure for leisure, but more worthily to live?

Why agonize and struggle for repose,
Remote, uncertain, and unseen, —
If we impose
On every bud the fury to be rose;
Spy on the seed to witness if it grows;
Despoil the silver dawn of its serene;
Startle the quiet dusk; like Phaiton
Lashing the hours that draw the lagging sun?
Were it worth while the precious years to save
That we may madly gallop to the grave?
Oh, time, time, time! — boon that we daily crave
And waste in craving, losing as we save.
Misers of all beside, our spendthrift strife
Flings to each passing wind time that alone is life.

Now have we need of days for nobler use
Than savage barter, or patrician food,
Or ease that only childish joys amuse,
Or lawless pleasure mixed with manners rude.
For while we ponder progress, half the world
Has turned volcano, and aside has hurled
All that long ages built upon its heights.
Not time but life is squandered; and the half
Of all the wheat is winnowed with the chaff.
From trusted harbors the familiar lights
By which we steered to safety have gone out
And left our laden hopes in drifting doubt.
Death, that was once God's servant, now is Man's
And at his bidding speeds his monstrous plans.
O marvel never sung to any lyre!
O certainty incredible and dire!
That one with anger thus could set his age on fire!
Of those who with cathedral-patience sought
Our liberty to buttress and uplift,
Who could have thought
The downward plunge to chaos was so swift?

Is life a false gem in our treasure store
Once richly prized, now richly prized no more,
And souls but sands beneath the waves of war?
Come, country of my heart, lest thy pure pledge
Of hope to the unborn be sodden sacrilege,
Cry, though the cannon echoes, " Peace, peace, peace! "
Summon thy hosts that kill not but increase:
Firm Justice, calm of Wisdom, fear of Wrong;
Courage of Science, constancy of Law;
The poise of Knowledge and the glow of Song;
Religion's solace, Doubt's still reverent awe;
Beauty, the smile of God, Music, His voice.
Oh, may these hold us sane and true,
Lift us from tears and teach us to rejoice,
Throw wide our prison doors
Self-built of jealousy and fear;
That ruined empires may through us renew
The long, slow march toward that millennial year
When men shall be of universal love the willing servitors.