dust, and it reeks of their grave. 
     Point them to greener, though Journals be guns;
     To brotherly fields under fatherly skies;
     Where the savage still primitive learns of a debt
     He has owed since he drummed on his belly for war;
     And how for his giving, the more will he get;
     For trusting his fellows, leave friends round his sons: 
     Till they see, with the gape of a startled surprise,
     Their adored tyrant-monster a brute to abhor,
     The sun of their system a father of flies!

     So, for such good hope, take their scourge unashamed;
     ’Tis the portion of them who civilize,
     Who speak the word novel and true: 
     How the brutish antique of our springs may be tamed,
     Without loss of the strength that should push us to flower;
     How the God of old time will act Satan of new,
     If we keep him not straight at the higher God aimed;
     For whose habitation within us we scour
     This house of our life; where our bitterest pains
     Are those to eject the Infernal, who heaps
     Mire on the soul.  Take stripes or chains;
     Grip at thy standard reviled. 
     And what if our body be dashed from the steeps? 
     Our spoken in protest remains. 
     A young generation reaps.

     The young generation! ah, there is the child
     Of our souls down the Ages! to bleed for it, proof
     That souls we have, with our senses filed,
     Our shuttles at thread of the woof. 
     May it be braver than ours,
     To encounter the rattle of hostile bolts,
     To look on the rising of Stranger Powers. 
     May it know how the mind in expansion revolts
     From a nursery Past with dead letters aloof,
     And the piping to stupor of Precedents shun,
     In a field where the forefather print of the hoof
     Is not yet overgrassed by the watering hours,
     And should prompt us to Change, as to promise of sun,
     Till brain-rule splendidly towers. 
     For that large light we have laboured and tramped
     Thorough forests and bogland, still to perceive
     Our animate morning stamped
     With the lines of a sombre eve.

     A timorous thing ran the innocent hind,
     When the wolf was the hypocrite fang under hood,
     The snake a lithe lurker up sleeve,
     And the lion effulgently ramped. 
     Then our forefather hoof did its work in the wood,
     By right of the better in kind. 
     But now will it breed yon bestial brood
     Three-fold thrice over, if bent to bind,
     As the healthy in chains with the sick,
     Unto despot usage our issuing mind. 
     It signifies battle or death’s dull knell. 
     Precedents icily written on high
     Challenge the Tentatives hot to rebel. 
     Our Mother, who speeds her bloomful quick
     For the march, reads