Go, minister of God, To drowsy pews where nod Your flock, who know so well The empty tale you tell! Some morning go and dare Speak what your real thoughts are, -- See them awake, and stare! Go, father, to your sons, -- Yea, to those milder ones, The daughters, soft and meek; And after sermon speak No half-truths, told with tact, But what you think is fact. Go, wielder of the pen! Write for your fellow-men What you have hinted true In whispers to a few. But you must look to see What present loss 't will be? Ah, wielder of the pen, They will not praise you then! Ah, minister of -- Whom? -- There will be sudden room In every velvet pew, If you but once speak true. Shame on you, cowards all! Is God's great throne to fall Except you prop it round With your poor empty sound? Think ye you'll ne'er be fed Unless, by Satan led, You bid your stones be bread? You think the universe Goes on from bad to worse, And with some glittering bait You'll coax it from its fate? You think all truth was given To you from cautious heaven, To keep beneath your thumb, And dole out, crumb by crumb, Lest haply, if once known, The world were overthrown? The world -- O faithless clod! Who made it, -- you, or God? Ah, well, this seems His way: He made the cowards, too; He leaves the false with true -- He leaves it till the day When suddenly men shall say, "What! you were one, -- and you? It was no scattered few? Why not, if we all knew, Have told each other so, Openly, long ago?" Yes: let us understand, Now, on whose side we stand, -- The poor old man's at Rome, Good but to feebly foam At each new torch men light, Encroaching on his night; Or theirs, who find God's way By no dark lantern's ray, But in the light of day. Of all the pillars fair Holding the world in air, Canst thou one shaft espy Based on a crafty lie? Is but one column there A sham, an empty shell? Not one? Then hew away, All good right arms that may: No falsehood we can fell Holds up God's citadel. For every cheat that falls, The firmer stand the walls. For all that's cleared away Of rubbish and decay, The sounder stand and shine The square-hewn walls divine. O younger souls! for you 'T is easy to be true. Dear spirit, far or near Let this new-risen year Be a new birth to thee; Stand forth -- be wholly free. Count not what it shall cost, -- Given for the world -- not lost, Deep down within thy heart, If thou dost feel it start, -- Some longing to be free, Some fresh fidelity, Some blush upon the cheek For all the past, so weak; Some manlier will to dare, -- If thou dost feel it stir, Grieve not the messenger: Thy better angel there Thou hearest, unaware. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AT CASTERBRIDGE FAIR: 5. THE INQUIRY by THOMAS HARDY THE SHEPHERD'S CONTENT by RICHARD BARNFIELD LOST TREASURE by MATHILDE BLIND THE TOWERS OF PRINCETON [FROM THE TRAIN] by ROBERT BRIDGES (1858-1941) A PRETTY WOMAN by ROBERT BROWNING FIFTEEN AND FIFTY by ALICE CARY |