The gods die not, long shrouded on their biers,
  Somewhere they live, and live in memory yet;
Were not the Israelites for forty years
  Hid from them in the desert to forget—­
Did they forget? no more than their lost feres
  Sons of to-day with faces southward set,
Who dig for buried lore long ages fled,
And sift for it the sand and search the dead.

Brown Egypt gave not one great poet birth,
  But man was better than his gods, with lay
He soothed them restless, and they zoned the earth,
  And crossed the sea; there drank immortal praise;
Then from his own best self with glory and worth
  And beauty dowered he them for dateless days. 
Ever “their sound goes forth” from shore to shore,
When was there known an hour that they lived more.

Because they are beloved and not believed,
  Admired not feared, they draw men to their feet;
All once, rejected, nothing now, received
  Where once found wanting, now the most complete;
Man knows to-day, though manhood stand achieved,
  His cradle-rockers made a rustling sweet;
That king reigns longest which did lose his crown,
Stars that by poets shine are stars gone down.

Still drawn obedient to an unseen hand,
  From purer heights comes down the yearning west,
Like to that eagle in the morning land,
  That swooping on her predatory quest,
Did from the altar steal a smouldering brand,
  The which she bearing home it burned her nest,
And her wide pinions of their plumes bereaven. 
Spoiled for glad spiring up the steeps of heaven.

I say the gods live, and that reign abhor,
  And will the nations it should dawn?  Will they
Who ride upon the perilous edge of war? 
  Will such as delve for gold in this our day? 
Neither the world will, nor the age will, nor
  The soul—­and what, it cometh now?  Nay, nay,
The weighty sphere, unready for release,
Rolls far in front of that o’ermastering peace.

Wait and desire it; life waits not, free there
  To good, to evil, thy right perilous—­
All shall be fair, and yet it is not fair. 
  I thank my God He takes th’advantage thus;
He doth not greatly hide, but still declare
  Which side He is on and which He loves, to us,
While life impartial aid to both doth lend,
And heed not which the choice nor what the end.

Among the few upright, O to be found,
  And ever search the nobler path, my son,
Nor say ’tis sweet to find me common ground
  Too high, too good, shall leave the hours alone—­
Nay, though but one stood on the height renowned,
  Deny not hope or will, to be that one. 
Is it the many fall’n shall lift the land,
The race, the age!—­Nay, ‘t is the few that stand.’

While in the lamplight hearkening I sat mute,
  Methought ‘How soon this fire must needs burn out’
Among the passion flowers and passion fruit
  That from the wide verandah hung, misdoubt
Was mine.  ’And wherefore made I thus long suit
  To leave this old white head?  His words devout,
His blessing not to hear who loves me so—­
He that is old, right old—­I will not go.’