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Lake
Lyrics and Other Poems
by
William Wilfred Campbell
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ODE
TO THE NINETEENTH CENTURY
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Dim
dawn of a nobler future, late night of a holier
past;
Twilight of truth’s torches wasted, bread
on the waters long cast;
Time long weary of gleaning old husks from the fields
that are bleak,
Age dead to the oracles uttered, and the droning
of lips that still speak.
Age of little that’s earnest, age of nothing
that’s strong, |
5 |
Age
of wills that are broken, true to no passion long;
With the dregs of a cup for a draught, and a feeble
complaint for a song.
Small lakes where once was an ocean, little stars
where once was a sun;
Wheels in confusion of wheels, where once the great
circle was one.
What are our dreams of the future, what have
we left of the past?
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What
are we dreaming or doing, how shall we meet the
next blast?
Politics, politics, politics: ruin, confusion and
rout,
In, chicanery, lying, model reformers when out.
Loud-mouthed babblings of honour, pratings of victories
won,
Maggots that crawl in the foulness of a carcass
out under the sun! |
15 |
Modern
civilization widening; what doth it mean?
Better a healthy barbarism, that this last age hath
been;
With its social and moral lepers, crying; unclean!
unclean!
Empires, monarchies, states; all are one of a kind;
Strife of atoms with atoms, blind ones leading the
blind. |
20 |
Little
is anchored on justice, little is honest or wise;
Passions buffeting passions, ’till God shall
open their eyes.
Each hath a grain of knowledge, each hath a spark
of truth,
Hidden in dark and confusion, buried in ruin and
ruth.
Parties and sects and parties; despots, the curse
of the earth;
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Chaining
up knowledge and reason, crippling children at birth.
Wide is the wisdom of God, wide as the bounds of
the world,
Would ye take it and hide it under a napkin furled.
Petty, weak dreams of an hour, puerile reforms
of a week;
Are there not plans and plans outside the ends
ye seek?
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Ye,
who seek to compass the deeds of all time in a day,
Ye, who trust in yourselves, scorning to wait or
to pray;
Are there not suns and suns where yours are dimmed
in the grey?
Ye who take one plot out of the gardens of God,
Hedge it about with a creed, and water and tend
its sod. |
35 |
Are
there not flowers and flowers that blossom outside
of your ken?
Are there not seeds wide sown thick as the thoughts
of men?
Think not yours are all under the breadth of the
blue,
There are flowers as fair just as holy of hue. |
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