Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/600

584 FLORUS B. PLIMPTON. [1850-60. THE REFORMER. The streams that feed the thirsty land Give largess freely as they flow, From mountain rivulets expand And strong-armed, sweep the vales below ; And eddying on through bay and bight, Through lonely wild and lovely lea, By scarped cliff and stormy height, In mighty rivers reach the sea. So shall he grow who gives to life High purposes and lofty deeds, Who sees the calm above the strife Of blinded self and narrow creeds. Oh, large of heart ! oh, nobly great ! He scorns the thrall of sect and clan. Shakes off the fetters forged in hate. And claims a brotherhood with man. Dwarfed ignorance fills the world with wail. Opinion sneers at his advance ; And Error, rusted in his mail. Strides forth to meet him, lance to lance. Mean, pigmy souls, that cringe to form And fatten on the dregs of time. Start from the dust in their alarm. And prate of rashness, treason, crime. Law's wrinkled, cunning advocates Quote mummied precedents and rules. The relics of barbaric states, The maxims of med'eval schools. For him the tyrant's guard is set. For him the bigot's fagots fired. For him the headsman's ax is whet. And chains are forged, and minions hired. Strong in his purpose, patient still. He wrestles with the doubts of mind, And shakes the iron thews of will. As oaks are shaken by the wind. Invincible in God and Truth, To smite the errors of his age He gives the fiery force of youth. The tempered wisdom of the sage. He sees, as prophets saw afar. In faith and vision wrapped sublime. The coming of the Morning Star, The glory of the latter time. His faith, outreaching circumstance. Beholds, beyond the narrow range Of present time, the slow advance Of cycles bringing wondrous change. He hears the mighty march of mind. The stately steppings of the free, Where glorious in the sun and wind. Their blazoned banners yet shall be. Well can he wait : the seed that lies Hid in the cold, repulsive clay. Shall burst in after centuries. And spread its glories to the day. Well can he wait : though sown in tears And martyred blood, with scourge and stripe, God watches through the whirling years. And quickens when the hour is ripe. Man's hands may fail, the slackened rein Drop from his nerveless grasp, but still The wheels shall thunder on the plam. Rolled by the lightning of his will.