Ode for the Hundred and Fiftieth Anniversary of Princeton College

Into the dust of the making of manSpirit was breathed when his life began,Lifting him up from his low estate,With masterful passion, the wish to create.Out of the dust of his making, manFashioned his works as the ages ran;Fortress, and palace, and temple, and tower,Filling the world with the proof of his power.Over the dust that awaits him, man,Building the walls that his pride doth plan,Dreams they will stand in the light of the sunBearing his name till Time is done.

The monuments of mortalsAre as the glory of the grass;Through Time's dim portalsA voiceless, viewless wind doth pass,The blossoms fall before it in a day,The forest monarchs year by year decay,And man's great buildings slowly fade away.One after one,They pay to that dumb breathThe tribute of their death,And are undone.The towers incline to dust,The massive girders rust,The domes dissolve in air,The pillars that upbearThe lofty arches crumble, stone by stone,While man the builder looks about him in despair,For all his works of pride and power are overthrown.

A Voice came from the sky:"Set thy desires more high.Thy buildings fade awayBecause thou buildest clay.Now make the fabric sureWith stones that will endure!Hewn from the spiritual rock,The immortal towers of the soulAt Death's dissolving touch shall mock,And stand secure while aeons roll."

Well did the wise in heart rejoiceTo hear the summons of that Voice,And patiently beginThe builder's work within,Houses not made with hands,Nor founded on the sands.And thou, Revered Mother, at whose callWe come to keep thy joyous festival,And celebrate thy labours on the walls of TruthThrough sevenscore years and ten of thine eternal youth--A master builder thou,And on thy shining brow,Like Cybele, in fadeless light dost wearA diadem of turrets strong and fair.

I see thee standing in a lonely land,But late and hardly won from solitude,Unpopulous and rude,--On that far western shore I see thee stand,Like some young goddess from a brighter strand,While in thine eyes a radiant thought is born,Enkindling all thy beauty like the morn.Sea-like the forest rolled, in waves of green,And few the lights that glimmered, leagues between.High in the north, for fourscore years aloneFair Harvard's earliest beacon-tower had shoneWhen Yale was lighted, and an answering rayFlashed from the meadows by New Haven Bay.But deeper spread the forest, and more dark,Where first Neshaminy received the sparkOf sacred learning to a woodland camp,And Old Log College glowed with Tennant's lamp.Thine, Alma Mater, was the larger sight,That saw the future of that trembling light,And thine the courage, thine the stronger will,That built its loftier home on Princeton Hill.

"New light!" men cried, and murmured that it cameFrom an unsanctioned source with lawless flame;It shone too free, for still the church and schoolMust only shine according to their rule.But Princeton answered, in her nobler mood,"God made the light, and all the light is good.There is no war between the old and new;The conflict lies between the false and true.The stars, that high in heaven their courses run,In glory differ, but their light is one.The beacons, gleaming o'er the sea of life,Are rivals but in radiance, not in strife.Shine on, ye sister-towers, across the night!I too will build a lasting house of light."

Brave was that word of faith and bravely was it kept:With never-wearying zeal that faltered not, nor slept,Our Alma Mater toiled, and while she firmly laidThe deep foundation-walls, at all her toil she prayed.And men who loved the truth because it made them free,And clearly saw the twofold Word of God agree,Reading from Nature's book and from the Bible's pageBy the same inward ray that grows from age to age,Were built like living stones that beacon to uplift,And drawing light from heaven gave to the world the gift.Nor ever, while they searched the secrets of the earth,Or traced the stream of life through mystery to its birth,Nor ever, while they taught the lightning-flash to bearThe messages of man in silence through the air,Fell from their home of light one false, perfidious rayTo blind the trusting heart, or lead the life astray.But still, while knowledge grew more luminous and broadIt lit the path of faith and showed the way to God.

Yet not for peace aloneLabour the builders.Work that in peace has grownSwiftly is overthrown,When in the darkening skiesStorm-clouds of wrath arise,And through the cannon's crash,War's deadly lightning-flashSmites and bewilders.Ramparts of strength must frownRound every placid townAnd city splendid;All that our fathers wroughtWith true prophetic thought,Must be defended!

But who could raise protecting walls for thee,Thou young, defenceless land of liberty?Or who could build a fortress strong enough,Or stretch a mighty bulwark long enoughTo hold thy far-extended coastAgainst the overweening hostThat took the open path across the sea,And like a tempest pouredTheir desolating horde,To quench thy dawning light in gloom of tyranny?Yet not unguarded thou wert foundWhen on thy shore with sullen soundThe blaring trumpets of an unjust kingProclaimed invasion. From the ground,In freedom's darkest hour, there seemed to springUnconquerable walls for her defence;Not trembling, like those battlements of stoneThat fell when Joshua's horns were blown;But firm and stark the living rampart rose,To meet the onset of imperious foesWith a long line of brave, unyielding men.This was thy fortress, well-defended land,And on these walls, the patient, building handOf Princeton laboured with the force of ten.Her sons were foremost in the furious fight;Her sons were firmest to uphold the rightIn council-chambers of the new-born State,And prove that he who would be free must first be greatIn heart, and high in thought, and strongIn purpose not to do or suffer wrong.Such were the men, impregnable to fear,Whose souls were framed and fashioned here;And when war shook the land with threatening shock,The men of Princeton stood like muniments of rock.Nor has the breath of TimeDissolved that proud arrayOf never-broken strength:For though the rocks decay,And all the iron bandsOf earthly strongholds are unloosed at length,And buried deep in gray oblivion's sands;The work that heroes' handsWrought in the light of freedom's natal dayShall never fade away,But lifts itself, sublimeInto a lucid sphere,For ever calm and clear,Preserving in the memory of the fathers' deed,A never-failing fortress for their children's need.There we confirm our hearts to-day, and readOn many a stone the signature of fame,The builder's mark, our Alma Mater's name.

Bear with us then a moment, while we turnFrom all the present splendours of this place--The lofty towers that like a dream have grownWhere once old Nassau Hall stood all alone--Back to that ancient time, with hearts that burnIn filial gratitude, to traceThe glory of our mother's best degree,In that "high son of Liberty,"Who like a granite block,Riven from Scotland's rock,Stood loyal here to keep Columbia free.Born far away beyond the ocean's tide,He found his fatherland upon this side;And every drop of ardent blood that ranThrough his great heart, was true American.He held no fealty to a distant throne,But made his new-found country's cause his own.In peril and distress,In toil and weariness,When darkness overcast herWith shadows of disaster,And voices of confusionProclaimed her hope delusion,Robed in his preacher's gown,He dared the danger down;Like some old prophet chanting an inspired runeIn freedom's councils rang the voice of Witherspoon.

And thou, my country, write it on thy heart:Thy sons are they who nobly take thy part;Who dedicates his manhood at thy shrine,Wherever born, is born a son of thine.Foreign in name, but not in soul, they comeTo find in thee their long desired home;Lovers of liberty and haters of disorder,They shall be built in strength along thy border.

Dream not thy future foesWill all be foreign-born!Turn thy clear look of scornUpon thy children who opposeTheir passions wild and policies of shameTo wreck the righteous splendour of thy name.Untaught and overconfident they rise,With folly on their lips, and envy in their eyes:Strong to destroy, but powerless to create,And ignorant of all that made our fathers great,Their hands would take away thy golden crown,And shake the pillars of thy freedom downIn Anarchy's ocean, dark and desolate.O should that storm descend,What fortress shall defendThe land our fathers wrought for,The liberties they fought for?What bulwark shall secureHer shrines of law, and keep her founts of justice pure?Then, ah then,As in the olden days,The builders must upraiseA rampart of indomitable men.And once again,Dear Mother, if thy heart and hand be true,There will be building work for thee to do;Yea, more than once again,Thou shalt win lasting praise,And never-dying honour shall be thine,For setting many stones in that illustrious line,To stand unshaken in the swirling strife,And guard their country's honour as her life.

Softly, my harp, and let me lay the touchOf silence on these rudely clanging strings;For he who singsEven of noble conflicts overmuch,Loses the inward sense of better things;And he who makes a boastOf knowledge, darkens that which counts the most,--The insight of a wise humilityThat reverently adores what none can see.The glory of our life belowComes not from what we do, or what we know,But dwells forevermore in what we are.There is an architecture grander farThan all the fortresses of war,More inextinguishably brightThan learning's lonely towers of light.Framing its walls of faith and hope and loveIn souls of men, it lifts aboveThe frailty of our earthly homeAn everlasting dome;The sanctuary of the human host,The living temple of the Holy Ghost.

If music led the builders long ago,When Arthur planned the halls of Camelot,And made the royal city grow,Fair as a flower in that forsaken spot;What sweeter music shall we bring,To weave a harmony divineOf prayer and holy thoughtInto the labours of this loftier shrine,This consecrated hill,Where through so many a yearOur Alma Mater's hand hath wrought,With toil serene and still,And heavenly hope, to rearEternal dwellings for the Only King?Here let no martial trumpets blow,Nor instruments of pride proclaimThe loud exultant notes of fame!But let the chords be clear and low,And let the anthem deeper grow,And let it move more solemnly and slow;For only such an odeCan seal the harmonyOf that deep masonryWherein the soul of man is framed for God's abode.

O Thou whose boundless love bestowsThe joy of earth, the hope of Heaven,And whose unchartered mercy flowsO'er all the blessings Thou hast given;Thou by whose light alone we see;And by whose truth our souls set freeAre made imperishably strong;Hear Thou the solemn music of our song.

Grant us the knowledge that we needTo solve the questions of the mind,And light our candle while we read,To keep our hearts from going blind;Enlarge our vision to beholdThe wonders Thou hast wrought of old;Reveal thyself in every law,And gild the towers of truth with holy awe.

Be Thou our strength if war's wild gustShall rage around us, loud and fierce;Confirm our souls and let our trustBe like a shield that none can pierce;Renew the courage that prevails,The steady faith that never fails,And make us stand in every fightFirm as a fortress to defend the right.

O God, control us as Thou wilt,And guide the labour of our hand;Let all our work be surely builtAs Thou, the architect, hast planned;But whatso'er thy power shall makeOf these frail lives, do not forsakeThy dwelling: let thy presence restFor ever in the temple of our breast.