Surely thou seest, O spirit of light and fire,
Surely thou canst not choose, O soul, but see
The days whose dayspring was beheld of thee
Ere eyes less pure might have their hope's desire,
Beholding life in heaven again respire
Where men saw nought that was or was to be,
Save only death imperial. Thou and he
Who has the heart of all men's hearts for lyre,
Ye twain, being great of spirit as time is great,
And sure of sight as truth's own heavenward eye,
Beheld the forms of forces passing by
And certitude of equal-balanced fate,
Whose breath forefelt makes darkness palpitate,
And knew that light should live and darkness die.
_VOS DEOS LAUDAMUS:_
THE CONSERVATIVE JOURNALIST'S ANTHEM.
'As a matter of fact, no man living, or who ever lived--not
CAESAR or PERICLES, not SHAKESPEARE or MICHAEL ANGELO--could
confer honour more than he took on entering the House of
Lords.'--_Saturday Review_, December 15, 1883.
'Clumsy and shallow snobbery--can do no hurt.'--_Ibid._
I.
O Lords our Gods, beneficent, sublime,
In the evening, and before the morning flames,
We praise, we bless, we magnify your names.
The slave is he that serves not; his the crime
And shame, who hails not as the crown of Time
That House wherein the all-envious world acclaims
Such glory that the reflex of it shames
All crowns bestowed of men for prose or rhyme.
Pages:
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62