Ye winds that blow the clouds across the sky
And search among the trees for music sweet,
Ye leaves that fall to the river and float by
The light that dances with mysterious feet
Among the grey-green willow's trembling shower,
Ye seem to me to weave the coming hour.
Billows that rush from the waste Ocean vast,
Lightnings that cross great waters all alone,
With solitary mountains that o'ercast
The peopled vale with shadows; have ye known
And seen what web the bright ascending sun
Spins with his beams for mortals? Is there none
Of the all-hallowing and enchanting stars,
That hourly make new patterns in the night,
Can prophesy the ceasing of our wars
And point the tomb of never pitying-might?
Have they not gold in all their twinkling shower,
Men's lives to free from Usury's purchased power?
The plunging waters answer from the deep,
The prairies whisper through their distances,
The rivers murmur peacefully and creep
Through banks whose lisp'd reed conferences
Utter the word we seek in cryptic speech,
And the stars hear it. Ah! Could they but teach!
There is a voice in all their ways for man,
To lead him back through calm to his own heart;
There is a pinnacle whence he may scan
The rolling clouds beneath him and apart;
There is a tongue in all the waves of sea
That, having neither fear nor hope, are free.
He that hath wandered in the woods of Spring
With moss and lustrous violets carpeted,
Passing in that cool shade from everything
That in the last word is disquieted,
He can regain the greatness of his kind,
Which most have never known—a gentle mind
The music that is in the lonely caves,
Where hunted patriots have harked by night,
Hath consolation. And the desolate graves
Of nations that have disappeared from sight,
Under the changing forces of the sky,
To vanquish death for man, though he must die.
Oh! for a race of men to rise at length
Who all to all these ways can enter free,
Who shall not speak of death, to image strength,
But find all power in man's own constancy,
Who, in the sweet face of the summer fields,
Shames to be lord who rules or slave that yields.
And search among the trees for music sweet,
Ye leaves that fall to the river and float by
The light that dances with mysterious feet
Among the grey-green willow's trembling shower,
Ye seem to me to weave the coming hour.
Billows that rush from the waste Ocean vast,
Lightnings that cross great waters all alone,
With solitary mountains that o'ercast
The peopled vale with shadows; have ye known
And seen what web the bright ascending sun
Spins with his beams for mortals? Is there none
Of the all-hallowing and enchanting stars,
That hourly make new patterns in the night,
Can prophesy the ceasing of our wars
And point the tomb of never pitying-might?
Have they not gold in all their twinkling shower,
Men's lives to free from Usury's purchased power?
The plunging waters answer from the deep,
The prairies whisper through their distances,
The rivers murmur peacefully and creep
Through banks whose lisp'd reed conferences
Utter the word we seek in cryptic speech,
And the stars hear it. Ah! Could they but teach!
There is a voice in all their ways for man,
To lead him back through calm to his own heart;
There is a pinnacle whence he may scan
The rolling clouds beneath him and apart;
There is a tongue in all the waves of sea
That, having neither fear nor hope, are free.
He that hath wandered in the woods of Spring
With moss and lustrous violets carpeted,
Passing in that cool shade from everything
That in the last word is disquieted,
He can regain the greatness of his kind,
Which most have never known—a gentle mind
The music that is in the lonely caves,
Where hunted patriots have harked by night,
Hath consolation. And the desolate graves
Of nations that have disappeared from sight,
Under the changing forces of the sky,
To vanquish death for man, though he must die.
Oh! for a race of men to rise at length
Who all to all these ways can enter free,
Who shall not speak of death, to image strength,
But find all power in man's own constancy,
Who, in the sweet face of the summer fields,
Shames to be lord who rules or slave that yields.