Now all who love the best -
Old and rebellious young -
Must contemplate the waste
Of countenancing wrong:
The human mired, the brute
Raised up to eminence,
The mimic following suit,
Until devoid of sense,
The good becoming gross, -
All this we may discern.
By slow degrees we learn
The full extent of loss.
Though the small wit we have
May nullify belief,
The simple act can save
The heritage of life.
With secrecy put by,
The heart grows less obtuse;
And fervency of eye
Is put to better use.
The impulse long denied,
The lips that never move,
The hatred and the pride -
These can be turned to love.
Now we must summon all
Our force, from breadth to length,
And walk, more vertical,
Secure in human strength.