Famished in his self-made desert, blinded by our purer day, Gropes in yet unblasted regions for his miserable prey;— Shall we guide his gory fingers where our helpless children play? Then to side with Truth is noble when we share her wretched crust, Ere her cause bring fame and profit, and 't is prosperous to be just; Then it is the brave man chooses, while the coward stands aside, Doubting in his abject spirit, till his Lord is crucified, Count me o'er earth's chosen heroes,—they were souls that stood alone, While the men they agonized for hurled the contumelious stone, Stood serene, and down the future saw the golden beam incline To the side of perfect justice, mastered by their faith divine, By one man's plain truth to manhood and to God's supreme design. By the light of burning heretics Christ's bleeding feet I track, Toiling up new Calvaries ever with the cross that turns not back, And these mounts of anguish number how each generation learned One new word of that grand Credo which in prophet-hearts hath burned Since the first man stood God-conquered with his face to heaven upturned. For Humanity sweeps onward: where to-day the martyr stands, On the morrow crouches Judas with the silver in his hands; Far in front the cross stands ready and the crackling fagots burn, While the hooting mob of yesterday in silent awe return To glean up the scattered ashes into History's golden urn. 'T is as easy to be heroes as to sit the idle slaves Of a legendary virtue carved upon our father's graves, Worshippers of light ancestral make the present light a crime;— Was the Mayflower launched by cowards, steered by men behind their time? Turn those tracks toward Past or Future, that make Plymouth Rock sublime? They were men of present valor, stalwart old iconoclasts, Unconvinced by axe or gibbet that all virtue was the Past's; But we make their truth our falsehood, thinking that hath made us free, Hoarding it in mouldy parchments, while our tender spirits flee The rude grasp of that great Impulse which drove them across the sea. They have rights who dare maintain them; we are traitors to our sires, Smothering in their holy ashes Freedom's new-lit altarfires; Shall we make their creed our jailer? Shall we, in our haste to slay, From the tombs of the old prophets steal the funeral lamps away To light up the martyr-fagots round the prophets of to-day? New occasions teach new duties; Time makes ancient good uncouth; They must upward still, and onward, who would keep abreast of Truth; Lo, before us gleam her camp-fires! we ourselves must Pilgrims be, Launch our Mayflower, and steer boldly through the desperate winter sea, Nor attempt the Future's portal with the Past's blood-rusted key. 806 THE PIOUS EDITOR'S CREED I Du believe in Freedom's cause, I du believe the people want Fer I hev loved my country sence My eye-teeth filled their sockets, An' Uncle Sam I reverence, Partic'larly his pockets. I du believe in any plan I go free-trade thru thick an' thin, The folks to vote,—an' keeps us in I du believe it's wise an' good I du believe in special ways O' prayin' an' convartin'; The bread comes back in many days, I du believe hard coin the stuff To make hard money out on; I du believe with all my soul I du believe thet I should give Fer it's by him I move an' live, Frum him my bread an' cheese air; I du believe thet all o' me Doth bear his superscription,— Will, conscience, honor, honesty, An' things o' thet description. I du believe in prayer an' praise This doth my cup with marcies fill, But oh, I du in interest. I du believe in bein' this Or thet, ez it may happen One way or 't other hendiest is To ketch the people nappin'; It aint by princerples nor men My preudunt course is steadied,— I scent wich pays the best, an' then Go into it baldheaded. I du believe thet holdin' slaves Comes nat'ral to a Presidunt, Let 'lone the rowdedow it saves To hev a wal-broke precedunt; Fer any office, small or gret, I could n't ax with no face, 'uthout I'd ben, thru dry an' wet, Th' unrizzest kind o' doughface. I du believe wutever trash 'll keep the people in blindness, Thet we the Mexicuns can thrash Right inter brotherly kindness, Thet bombshells, grape, an' powder 'n' ball Air good-will's strongest magnets, Thet peace, to make it stick at all, Must be druv in with bagnets. In short, I firmly du believe In Humbug generally, Fer it's a thing thet I perceive This heth my faithful shepherd ben, In pasturs sweet heth led me, An' this '11 keep the people green To feed ez they hev fed me. |