O years unborn, what mystery
Will you reveal to age and youth
From highest height to deepest sea,
From fettered doubt or winged truth?

What songs of steel whose lyric note
Will make new music for our ears;
What flame from lightning's yellow throat
To bind us to the alien spheres?

What towering temples built of stone
Will rise like Babel from the sod
That men by flesh and blood alone
May climb the heights and walk with God?

But years unborn, not yours to bring
By fire or sword or stratagem
The gift to make the angels sing . . .
The star that led to Bethlehem!

O years unborn, what mystery
— Will you reveal to age and youth
From highest height to deepest sea,
— From fettered doubt or winged truth?

What songs of steel whose lyric note
— Will make new music for our ears;
What flame from lightning's yellow throat
— To bind us to the alien spheres?

What towering temples built of stone
— Will rise like Babel from the sod
That men by flesh and blood alone
— May climb the heights and walk with God?

But years unborn, not yours to bring
— By fire or sword or stratagem
The gift to make the angels sing . . .
— The star that led to Bethlehem!