Immortality
There is a hope of heaven in every human breast —
A hope of life supernal in some far region blest, —
Of an immortal vesture, of an eternal rest.
There is a hope undying that life's inglorious span
The travail strange and painful, and death's unpitying ban,
May not complete the miracle, may not be all of man.
There is a hope unfounded in myth or creed or lore
That recompense for mortals awaits them at the door
Where they lay down their burdens and pass and are no more.
There is a hope inspiring the spirits of the brave
Who conquer legioned evils and death's lethean wave
With fortitude undaunted by darkness of the grave.
There is a hope whose radiance unto the weak appears
A light upon their pathway throughout the dolorous years,
And promises deliverance beyond their vale of tears.
There is a hope uplifting the weary head of pain
Which, crowned with thorns and bruises, in agony has lain, —
That though man die and vanish, yet shall he live again.
This hope imperishable, coeval with the race,
Makes epochal existence in this abiding-place —
A date of incarnation in spiritual space.
No psychic evolution contributed this trust
In conscious resurrection to him whose body must
As ashes go to ashes, as dust return to dust.
He who first saw the myriad of stars in order roll,
Or marked the tide of ocean, or the divine control
Of universal beauty, proclaimed himself a soul.
On what primordial mountain he hailed a rising sun,
Or in what vale ambrosial walked when the day was done,
Or what his certain feature, or what his course to run —
He who first sang in gladness of spirit to the sky,
Or who with lamentation first closed a tearful eye,
Conceived the faith which teaches that man shall never die.
No fabulist had painted the vision of a dream
Prefiguring existence beyond the mystic stream
Whose melancholy darkness became a happy theme.
No oracle had given to man a secret deep, —
No gracious mediator had promised those who weep
A jubilant revival after the dreaded sleep.
No altar had been builded, no sacrifice been laid,
No homage had been offered, no adoration paid,
No prayer and no thanksgiving to Deity been made.
And yet man felt assurance of supramortal bliss;
Faith symbolized survival beyond his grave's abyss,
And for his holy spirit an apotheosis —
That noble faith, that credence which gives existence worth
And, with a sense exultant of a celestial birth,
Entablatures with triumph the sepulchers of earth.
Through cycles cataclysmic the changing world has sped;
Through cosmical translation its beauty has been shed;
Through marvelous transition man's destiny has led.
From rites and mounds barbaric the primal altar came,
Whose garlanded inscription declared a higher name
To devotees whose incense hallowed a finer flame.
The colonnaded temple in vales Arcadian rose,
And Pagan art, for emblems of a divine repose,
Types of majestic beauty interpreted and chose.
The simply tuneful timbre of sylvan oat and lyre —
Sweet solace of the prophet whose lips were touched with fire —
Preluded the rich organ and the symphonic choir.
The poesy that numbered a madrigal refrain
For nomad of the desert or shepherd of the plain
Molded a lovelier language, inspired a loftier strain.
So quickened the florescence of manhood, and man stood
An archetype of glory and herald of the good
Predestined to develop the human saintlihood.
From boreal aurora to Southern Cross a chime
Of ringing bells pealed skyward a harmony sublime —
A musical concordance significant in time.
These bells attune the ages, and art's divining rod
Reveals a heavenly vista, and science, lightning-shod,
Blazons upon the future, man's destiny is God.
A hope of life supernal in some far region blest, —
Of an immortal vesture, of an eternal rest.
There is a hope undying that life's inglorious span
The travail strange and painful, and death's unpitying ban,
May not complete the miracle, may not be all of man.
There is a hope unfounded in myth or creed or lore
That recompense for mortals awaits them at the door
Where they lay down their burdens and pass and are no more.
There is a hope inspiring the spirits of the brave
Who conquer legioned evils and death's lethean wave
With fortitude undaunted by darkness of the grave.
There is a hope whose radiance unto the weak appears
A light upon their pathway throughout the dolorous years,
And promises deliverance beyond their vale of tears.
There is a hope uplifting the weary head of pain
Which, crowned with thorns and bruises, in agony has lain, —
That though man die and vanish, yet shall he live again.
This hope imperishable, coeval with the race,
Makes epochal existence in this abiding-place —
A date of incarnation in spiritual space.
No psychic evolution contributed this trust
In conscious resurrection to him whose body must
As ashes go to ashes, as dust return to dust.
He who first saw the myriad of stars in order roll,
Or marked the tide of ocean, or the divine control
Of universal beauty, proclaimed himself a soul.
On what primordial mountain he hailed a rising sun,
Or in what vale ambrosial walked when the day was done,
Or what his certain feature, or what his course to run —
He who first sang in gladness of spirit to the sky,
Or who with lamentation first closed a tearful eye,
Conceived the faith which teaches that man shall never die.
No fabulist had painted the vision of a dream
Prefiguring existence beyond the mystic stream
Whose melancholy darkness became a happy theme.
No oracle had given to man a secret deep, —
No gracious mediator had promised those who weep
A jubilant revival after the dreaded sleep.
No altar had been builded, no sacrifice been laid,
No homage had been offered, no adoration paid,
No prayer and no thanksgiving to Deity been made.
And yet man felt assurance of supramortal bliss;
Faith symbolized survival beyond his grave's abyss,
And for his holy spirit an apotheosis —
That noble faith, that credence which gives existence worth
And, with a sense exultant of a celestial birth,
Entablatures with triumph the sepulchers of earth.
Through cycles cataclysmic the changing world has sped;
Through cosmical translation its beauty has been shed;
Through marvelous transition man's destiny has led.
From rites and mounds barbaric the primal altar came,
Whose garlanded inscription declared a higher name
To devotees whose incense hallowed a finer flame.
The colonnaded temple in vales Arcadian rose,
And Pagan art, for emblems of a divine repose,
Types of majestic beauty interpreted and chose.
The simply tuneful timbre of sylvan oat and lyre —
Sweet solace of the prophet whose lips were touched with fire —
Preluded the rich organ and the symphonic choir.
The poesy that numbered a madrigal refrain
For nomad of the desert or shepherd of the plain
Molded a lovelier language, inspired a loftier strain.
So quickened the florescence of manhood, and man stood
An archetype of glory and herald of the good
Predestined to develop the human saintlihood.
From boreal aurora to Southern Cross a chime
Of ringing bells pealed skyward a harmony sublime —
A musical concordance significant in time.
These bells attune the ages, and art's divining rod
Reveals a heavenly vista, and science, lightning-shod,
Blazons upon the future, man's destiny is God.
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