Poems By John L. Stoddard Part 13

Alas! the urn no longer stands Within the little alcove dim; Gone also are the faithful hands That hung sweet roses on its rim; And vanished even is the bust Which watched above the sacred dust.

Yet still its words of love survive The shocks and tragedies of time, And bid our drooping hearts revive, Inculcating the faith sublime That, while the urn in ruin lies, Love soars immortal to the skies.

DISCOURAGEMENT

"Forward, comrades, ever forward"!

Shout the leaders in the fight; "Scale the ramparts! Plant the standard On the citadel of light!

"Break the chains of superst.i.tion!

Crush corruption! Free the slave!

Plant the flowers of love and mercy On the past's ensanguined grave!

"Toward the strongholds of oppression Lead again the hope forlorn!

See! the night is disappearing; Lo! the coming of the morn"!

Bravely said; yet men have spoken Just as bravely long ago, When the hair had raven blackness Which is now as white as snow;

And alas! how many thousands Have responded to that call, Whose forgotten corpses moulder By the still beleaguered wall!

Forms have changed and words have altered, But the things remain the same; Still doth man enslave his brother,-- Always master, save in name.

Still are G.o.d's dumb creatures tortured, Racial hatreds never cease, And man's greatest self-delusion Is the s.h.i.+bboleth of "Peace."

Hence, while youth, with hope and courage, Loudly vents its n.o.ble rage; Age, profoundly disillusioned, Sad and silent leaves the stage.

Round the cla.s.sic Inland Ocean, Where the Roman world held sway, Storied sh.o.r.es are iridescent With the splendor of decay;

Persia, Syria, Egypt, Athens, Proud Byzantium, Carthage, Spain,-- In their mournful desolation Hear the old sea's sad refrain:--

"Rising, falling, waxing, waning, Men and nations come and go; Reaching glory, then declining, As the ebb succeeds the flow.

"All florescence is but fleeting: Each in turn enjoys its day, Hath its seed-time, bud and flower, And as surely fades away.

"Growth, maturity, decadence,-- Form mankind's unchanging role, And the dead past's sombre ruins Are prophetic of the whole."

"Nay," you cry in bitter protest, "Shall man have no perfect end, No millennial culmination, Toward which all the ages tend?

"Must all races prove decadent?

Shall not one produce in time Perfect types of men and women In a world devoid of crime?"

Scan the lurid past, and tell us On what ground you base your hopes!

Does an endless line of failures Warrant brighter horoscopes?

Hath not every race and nation Sunk from grandeur to decay?

What shall save us, then, from ruin?

Are we better men than they?

"Great inventors", say you? Granted; Such material gifts are ours; Every age hath some distinction, Every race its special powers.

But the progress is not lasting, And the special powers decline; Man's advance is never constant In one grand, unbroken line.

Nor is ground, once lost, recovered; Greece and Rome are not replaced!

All the sites of pagan learning Still lie desolate and waste.

What know we,--except in physics--, That the ancients did not know?

Are we wiser than the sages Of two thousand years ago?

More devout than Hebrew prophets?

More upright than Antonine?

More accomplished than the Grecians, Or than Buddha more divine?

And if such men could not hinder Fate's resistless rise and fall, How can we expect exemption From the common lot of all?

Let us frankly face the prospect That man's progress here may fail; That the race may never triumph, But again descend the scale,

Till the last surviving savage To his glacial cave retires, And earth's tragic drama closes, As humanity expires!

And why not? All weaker species To the stronger yield their place; May the same law not be needed Through the boundless realms of s.p.a.ce?

By whatever beings peopled, Worlds that fail to meet the test May like fruitless blossoms perish; G.o.d will winnow out the best.

Would you know our planet's value?

View the star-strewn dome of night!

In that sh.o.r.eless sea of splendor What is one faint wave of light?

Worlds by millions are revolving Through that vast, unfathomed main; Should our tiny orb make s.h.i.+pwreck, Worlds by millions would remain;

Where perchance a real advancement May prevail from pole to pole, Without losses, without lapses, Toward a final, perfect goal.

This at least can not be doubted,-- That our globe will one day roll Cold and lifeless thro' its...o...b..t, Like a corpse without its soul.

Will mankind have reached perfection Ere that epoch has begun, Or grown b.e.s.t.i.a.l, as the heat-waves Issue feebly from the sun?

None may know. Through blood-stained cycles We have thus far made our way: Of the unknown depths beneath us We are nothing but the spray.

MeSALLIANCE

With gentle manners, winsome face, And forehead fit to wear a crown, How brilliant might have been her place, Had she not mated with a clown,--

A Caliban of modern date, Ill-dressed, ill-shapen, ill at ease, With halting speech and awkward gait, And manners certain to displease!

What secret motive could have led This charming girl her life to stain By condescending thus to wed A husband whom she must disdain?