For humanity sweeps onward; where to-day the martyr stands, On the morrow crouches Judas with the silver in his hands; We sleep and wake and sleep, but all things Far in front the cross stands ready and the move; The sun flies forward to his brother sun; TENNYSON. crackling fagots burn, While the hooting mob of yesterday in silent awe return To glean up the scattered ashes into history's golden urn. LOWELL. Go, mark the matchless working of the power And if it dared its life to scan, That shuts within the seed the future flower: COWPER. Would ask but pathway low and still; ANONYMOUS. |