SARNAT, A BOODH MONUMENT.
Dim faith of other times, when earth was young,
And eager in belief; when men were few,
And felt their nothingness; not then elate
With numbers, science, and the victories
Which history registers o’er vanquished time.
For time is vanquished by discovery,
By arts which triumph over common wants,
By knowledge, which bequeaths the following age
All that its predecessor sought and won.
But thou, oh ancient creed, hast nought of this.
Others have given immortality
To their bold founders; he who worshipped fire,
And taught the Magi how to read the stars,
The Persian Zoroaster, left a name;
And he, too, of the crescent and the sword,
Who sternlike swept on his appointed way,
Is still his followers’ war-cry. These beliefs
Are obvious in their workings; we can trace
The one great mind that set the springs in play,
By which the human puppets rise and fall.
Ambition, avarice, cruelty, and fear,
The natural inmates of the heart in man,
Are stirred by some adventurer, who knows
How superstition can be made the bond
To fetter thousands; I can understand
The rise and progress of such earthly creed.
Oh, vanity of vanities is writ
Upon all things of earth—but what can wear
The writing on its forehead like this shrine?
It is a mighty thing to teach mankind
A new idolatry, to bind the weak
In their own fancies, to incite the strong
By high imaginations, future hopes,
Which fill the craving in all noble hearts
For things beyond themselves, beyond their sphere.
All human gifts must concentrate in Him
Who can originate a new belief—
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