Classic Poem

Deep searcher after truth, whilst thou art mining
The hidden realm of thought,
The world's great heart is silently enshrining
The jewels thou hast wrought.

I never gazed upon thy face impassioned,
Nor held thy hand in mine;
I know not, reck not, how the Maker fashioned
Thy spirit's mortal shrine.

Nor do I wish the knowledge, won by asking—
Thy lineage, state or place;
I know—it is enough—that thou art tasking
Thy powers to bless our race.

Oh, I have listened to thy songs enchanting,
Until they rapt my brain;
And my full heart, all trembling, throbbing, panting,
Joined in the grand refrain.

From these I learn thou wouldst not laud a tyrant,
To share a scepter's power:
That thy free spirit is a bold aspirant
To win a prouder dower.

That in the wrongs and wretchedness of others
Thy sympathies bear part;
That all the oppressed, the suffering, are the brothers
Of thy true, noble heart.

That where the beacon-star of Faith is burning,
Thy hope soars up sublime,
Beyond the twilight of the Now, discerning
The coming better time.

It is thy glorious privilege, thy duty,
To sow with magic pen
On life's rough wayside seeds of moral beauty
To bless thy fellow men:

To teach that virtuous boldness, that reliance
On justice, truth and right,
That never falters in its deep defiance
Of tyrant wrong and might.

Faint not, but be thine efforts still directed
To compass great designs,
And be the sunlight of thy soul reflected
From other hearts and minds.

Until the arm of young Reform has broken
Abuses old and strong,
And earth, the renovated, wears no token
Of cruelty and wrong.