The Reformer

ALL grim and soiled and brown with tan,I saw a Strong One, in his wrath,Smiting the godless shrines of manAlong his path.

The Church, beneath her trembling dome,Essayed in vain her ghostly charmWealth shook within his gilded homeWith strange alarm.

Fraud from his secret chambers fledBefore the sunlight bursting inSloth drew her pillow o'er her headTo drown the din.

"Spare," Art implored, "yon holy pile;That grand, old, time-worn turret spare;"Meek Reverence, kneeling in the aisle,Cried out, "Forbear!"

Gray-bearded Use, who, deaf and blind,Groped for his old accustomed stone,Leaned on his staff, and wept to findHis seat o'erthrown.

Young Romance raised his dreamy eyes,O'erhung with paly locks of gold,--"Why smite," he asked in sad surprise,"The fair, the old?"

Yet louder rang the Strong One's stroke,Yet nearer flashed his axe's gleam;Shuddering and sick of heart I woke,As from a dream.

I looked: aside the dust-cloud rolled,The Waster seemed the Builder too;Upspringing from the ruined OldI saw the New.

'T was but the ruin of the bad,--The wasting of the wrong and ill;Whate'er of good the old time hadWas living still.

Calm grew the brows of him I feared;The frown which awed me passed away,And left behind a smile which cheeredLike breaking day.

The grain grew green on battle-plains,O'er swarded war-mounds grazed the cow;The slave stood forging from his chainsThe spade and plough.

Where frowned the fort, pavilions gayAnd cottage windows, flower-entwined,Looked out upon the peaceful bayAnd hills behind.

Through vine-wreathed cups with wine once red,The lights on brimming crystal fell,Drawn, sparkling, from the rivulet headAnd mossy well.

Through prison walls, like Heaven-sent hope,Fresh breezes blew, and sunbeams strayed,And with the idle gallows-ropeThe young child played.

Where the doomed victim in his cellHad counted o'er the weary hours,Glad school-girls, answering to the bell,Came crowned with flowers.

Grown wiser for the lesson given,I fear no longer, for I knowThat, where the share is deepest driven,The best fruits grow.

The outworn rite, the old abuse,The pious fraud transparent grown,The good held captive in the useOf wrong alone,--

These wait their doom, from that great lawWhich makes the past time serve to-day;And fresher life the world shall drawFrom their decay.

Oh, backward-looking son of time!The new is old, the old is new,The cycle of a change sublimeStill sweeping through.

So wisely taught the Indian seer;Destroying Seva, forming Brahm,Who wake by turns Earth's love and fear,Are one, the same.

Idly as thou, in that old dayThou mournest, did thy sire repine;So, in his time, thy child grown grayShall sigh for thine.

But life shall on and upward go;Th' eternal step of Progress beatsTo that great anthem, calm and slow,Which God repeats.

Take heart! the Waster builds again,A charmed life old Goodness bath;The tares may perish, but the grainIs not for death.

God works in all things; all obeyHis first propulsion from the nightWake thou and watch! the world is grayWith morning light!