Excerpt From the
"Commemoration Ode"
by Harriet Monroe (1860-1936) |
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WASHINGTON
WHEN
dreaming kings, at odds with swift paced time,
Would
strike that banner down,
A nobler knight than ever writ
or rhyme
With fame's bright wreath did crown
Through
armed hosts bore it till it floated high
Beyond the
clouds, a light that cannot die!
Ah, hero of our younger
race!
Great builder of a temple new!
Ruler, who sought
no lordly place!
Warrior, who sheathed the sword he drew!
Lover of men, who saw afar
A world unmarred by want or
war,
Who knew the path, and yet forbore
To tread, till
all men should implore;
Who saw the light, and led the
way
Where the gray would might greet the day;
Father
and leader, prophet sure,
Whose will in vast works shall
endure,
How shall we praise him on this day of days,
Great son of fame who has no need of praise?
How
shall we praise him? Open wide the doors
Of the fair
temple whose broad base he laid.
Through its white halls
a shadowy cavalcade
Of heroes moves o'er unresounding
floors
Men whose brawned arms upraised these columns
high,
And reared the towers that vanish in the sky
The
strong who, having wrought, can never die.
LINCOLN
AND, lo! leading a blessed host comes one
Who held a warring nation in his heart;
Who knew love's
agony, but had no part
In love's delight; whose mightly
task was done
Through blood and tears that we might walk
in joy,
And this day's rapture own no sad alloy.
Around him heirs of bliss, whose bright brows wear
Palm-leaves amid their laurels ever fair.
Gaily they
come, as though the drum
Beat out the call their glad
hearts knew so well:
Brothers once more, dear as of yore,
Who in a noble conflict nobly fell.
Their blood washed
pure you banner in the sky,
And quenched the brands laid
'neath these arches high
The brave who, having fought,
can never die.
Then surging through the vastness rise
once more
The aureoled heirs of light, who onward bore
Through darksome times and trackless realms of ruth
The
flag of beauty and the torch of truth.
They tore the mask
from the foul face of wrong;
Even to God's mysteries they
dared aspire;
High in the choir they built yon
altar-fire,
And filled these aisles with color and with
song:
The ever-young, the unfallen, wreathing for time
Fresh garlands of the seeming-vanished years;
Faces long
luminous, remote, sublime,
And shining brows still dewy
with our tears.
Back with the old glad smile comes one we
knew
We bade him rear our house of joy today.
But
Beauty opened wide her starry way,
And he passed on.
Bright champions of the true,
Soldiers of peace, seers,
singers ever blest,
From the wide ether of a loftier
quest
Their winged souls throng our rites to glorify,
The wise who, having known, can never die.
DEMOCRACY
FOR, lo! the living God doth bare his arm.
No more he makes his house of clouds and gloom.
Lightly
the shuttles move within his loom;
Unveiled his thunder
leaps to meet the storm.
From God's right hand man takes
the powers that sway
A universe of stars.
He bows them
down; he bids them go or stay;
He tames them for his
wars.
He scans the burning paces of the sun,
And names
the invisible orbs whose courses run
Through the dim
deeps of space.
He sees in dew upon a rose impearled
The swarming legions of a monad world
Begin life's upward
race.
Voices of hope he hears
Long dumb to his
despair,
And dreams of golden years
Meet for a world
so fair.
For now Democracy doth wake and rise
From the
sweet sloth of youth.
By storms made strong, by many
dreams made wise,
He clasps the hand of Truth.
Through
the armed nations lies his path of peace,
The open book
of knowledge in his hand.
Food to the starving, to the
oppressed release,
And love to all he bears from land to
land.
Before his march the barriers fall,
The laws
grow gentle at his call.
His glowing breath blows far
away
The fogs that veil the coming day,
That wondrous
day
When earth shall sing as through the blue she rolls
Laden with joy for all her thronging souls.
Then shall
want's call to sin resound no more
Across her teeming
fields. And pain shall sleep,
Soothed by brave science
with her magic lore;
And war no more shall bid the
nations weep.
Then the worn chains shall slip from man's
desire,
And ever higher and higher
His swift foot
shall aspire;
Still deeper and more deep
His soul its
watch shall keep,
Till love shall make the world a holy
place,
Where knowledge dare unveil God's very face.
Not yet the angels hear life's last sweet song.
Music
unutterably pure and strong
From earth shall rise to
haunt the peopled skies,
When the long march of time,
Patient in birth and death, in growth and blight,
Shall
lead man up through happy realms of light
Unto his goal
sublime. |
By Harriet Monroe (1860-1936)
Listed
January 31, 2013 |
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