Classic Poem

Who cries for bread?
Or that worse counterfeit, the golden beast?
We, who have been on manna fed?
Shall we on tillage of the waste make feast,
Or by a minted ox be led?
O weary, backward-looking eyes!
Far o'er the wilderness your gaze beholds
How Egypt still the flesh-pot holds
And at the sight your covetousness cries;
For ye remember how the first-born died
And with what joy ye heard the angel pass
Your blood-stained lintels, while he made as grass
The Egyptian pride;
And ever-backward running, ye recall
The frogs, the locusts, rivers turned to blood,
And all the increasing plagues which did befall
The mockers of your God;
And recreant still, thirsty revenge runs back
To gloat upon the evils ye endured
When for your servile task ye knew the lack
Even of straw for cloven swine procured;
While as to lift your load of wrong ye failed,
Beneath the Egyptian lash your flesh and spirit quailed.

" Justice on these," ye cry, " let justice live
Ere God to us His truth and mercy give!
Sacred is justice! and the Egyptian feeds
In sloth and plenty, while our barest needs
This manna stays not — ay, and the worm it breeds."

Behold the wilderness! and beyond sight
The promised land, a land of pure delight
Where milk and honey flows, and ye shall be
Kings and priests to your God continually.
Whoso in this waste wilderness can sing,
Whoso from day to living day can feed
Upon the bread which stays an angel's need,
Who is so wise that not on any thing
Mortal, and thus fore-doomed to slow decay,
Hath his heart centred, but alway
Worships the still-creating power
Whereby is born the littlest flower,
Whereby to-morrow's light appears,
Whereby man gropes from out his fears
Into the ever-dawning light —
Come — gone — come — coming still on sight,
Dying for ever, and for ever born —
Who can abide in this perpetual morn
And ope the tissues of his soul
To influx from the perfect whole:
Satisfied shall his spirit be:
A king and priest unto our God eternally.
For nothing less, O Israel!
Were ye from Egypt brought;
For nothing less did God oppress
Wrong ye else fruitless fought.
Doth your heart fail?
Seek ye the flesh-pots here?
Nay, they shall not appear.
Where others grossly fed would ye now eat?
Back into bondage must ye then retreat.

" Nay, but not so!" ye cry; " for we
Will freely live where formerly
As servile slaves we lay oppressed.
Freedom and plenty we desire
Where once we served for tyrant's hire.
Let the Egyptian toil and choke
Beneath the ever-tightening yoke
Which galled our necks, while we in comfort rest."
Then, men of Israel, will ye find
Task-masters of another kind:
Ye shall to flesh-pots bow a lowlier knee
Than ever Pharaoh could command,
And for his minions' tyranny
Exchange the whip plied by your own right hand.
If ye would live on bread alone
Even your bread shall turn to stone,
And Egypt's idols then shall seem
To you a bright religious dream;
For they to living beasts did give
Their hearts' obeisance, ye shall live
To bow before images made
By men in likeness of their trade,
Till this to viler use descend
And marketable gods become your end;
Whence ye shall grope to Moloch's lust
And babes in innocency thrust
Into his ever-yawning mouth,
Praying his fire to quench your mortal drouth.
O turn and see!
Be not as Lot's sad wife!
What hath been, thou hast passed invincibly;
Tread not again the barren fields of strife!
This dull possession of the twice-clenched fist
Starves the poor inmate of thy famished heart;
While thou dost grasp, thy longing soul hath missed
The fountains where the living waters start;
Thou lookest here and there,
Thou goest everywhere
Scenting the earth as some poor beast of prey,
While every day
The manna falleth plenteously and free,
The wilderness a garden waits to be,
And the outgoing of thy soul shall find
The harsh rock soft as any thrush's nest,
Thy feet made swift and light as feet of hind
Leaving the mossy verdure scarce impressed:
Nay, if thou turn from dead decaying things,
Thou shalt mount up as upon eagle's wings.

What is thy life? Suspend it but one hour,
And canst thou call again the unseen breath?
Over thine own life hast thou any power?
Grasp the essential nothing! and lo, death
Without a peer over thy body reigns
Till not the helpless corpse survives to thee.
Of life or death a servant man remains,
And all his years the choice is offered free
Whether of dark descent toward the tomb,
Or rapturous flight toward the perfect day —
Life to increase, or life to ebb away —
He makes eternal hope or transient doom.
Then, since thy being's fount is not thine own,
What, thinkest thou, thou canst in truth possess?
The manna? flesh-pots? bread which turns to stone?
Wilt thou with these secure thy happiness?
Nay! But the dawn which beckons thee shall lead
To everlasting fountains of delight,
The heart immune from pangs of timorous greed,
Shall know the power of everlasting might:
Upon the waters cast thy mortal bread
The everlasting bread of life to find.
Walk on the future, and thy feet shall tread
With steps secure the everlasting wind.

Behind, thy shadow, and before, the light;
'Tis given thee to walk in light or shade.
Thine eyes look onward. They were set aright.
Look on, in joy: look back, and be afraid,
Child of Eternity, thy heritage
Lies not in tombs which moulder into dust,
But ever on to-morrow's unwrit page,
Where wealth immeasurable is held in trust.
Into thy heritage, O Child of Light,
Come! for it but increases as thou spend:
The light of past days dwindles on thy sight,
Fading as fades the glow at day's dark end;
But this waits thine acceptance to increase;
It waits to fill the chambers of thy mind
With the unending day of love and peace,
Till thou, sweet prisoner, shalt crack the rind
Which cases thee in dull mortality,
And leaping from this tomb of shadows find
Of unveiled light thou art for ever free.
Who cries for bread?
O let us cease to tread
The circling path tethered possession wears!
Will none of you behold
The land so oft foretold
Where the untutored vine full cluster bears?
Turn, Israel, turn and see,
God hath prepared for thee
What eye hath never seen, nor heart believed:
A king and priest to be
To Him continually,
This hath He for thy destiny conceived.