lights
  To lose themselves in bogs and fens at last? 
  But read instead in Nature’s open book
  How light from darkness grew by slow degrees;
  How crawling worms grew into light-winged birds,
  Acquiring sweetest notes and gayest plumes;
  How lowly ferns grew into lofty palms;
  How men have made themselves from chattering apes;[2]
  How, even from protoplasm to highest bard,
  Selecting and rejecting, mind has grown,
  Until at length all secrets are unlocked,
  And man himself now stands pre-eminent,
  Maker and master of his own great self,
  To sneer at all his lisping childlike past
  And laugh at all his fathers had revered.”

  The prince with gentle earnestness replied: 
  “Full well I know how blindly we grope on
  In doubt and fear and ignorance profound,
  The wisdom of the past a book now sealed. 
  But why despise what ages have revered? 
  As some rude plowman casts on rubbish-heaps
  The rusty casket that his share reveals,
  Not knowing that within it are concealed
  Most precious gems, to make him rich indeed,
  The hand that hid them from the robber, cold,
  The key that locked this rusty casket, lost. 
  The past was wise, else whence that wondrous tongue[3]
  That we call sacred, which the learned speak,
  Now passing out of use as too refined
  For this rude age, too smooth for our rough tongues,
  Too rich and delicate for our coarse thoughts. 
  Why should such men make fables so absurd
  Unless within their rough outside is stored
  Some precious truth from profanation hid? 
  Revere your own, revile no other faith,
  Lest with the casket you reject the gems,
  Or with rough hulls reject the living seed. 
  Doubtless in nature changes have been wrought
  That speak of ages in the distant past,
  Whose contemplation fills the mind with awe. 
  The smooth-worn pebbles on the highest hills
  Speak of an ocean sweeping o’er their tops;
  The giant palms, now changed to solid rocks,
  Speak of the wonders of a buried world. 
  Why seek to solve the riddle nature puts,
  Of whence and why, with theories and dreams? 
  The crawling worm proclaims its Maker’s power;
  The singing bird proclaims its Maker’s skill;
  The mind of man proclaims a greater Mind,
  Whose will makes world, whose thoughts are living acts. 
  Our every heart-throb speaks of present power,
  Preserving, recreating, day by day. 
  Better confess how little we can know,
  Better with feet unshod and humble awe
  Approach this living Power to ask for aid.” 
  And as he spoke the devas filled the air,
  Unseen, unheard of men, and sweetly sung: 
  “Hail, prince of peace! hail, harbinger of day! 
  The darkness vanishes, the light appears.” 
  But Mara heard, and silent slunk away,
  The o’erwrought prince fell prostrate on the ground
  And lay entranced, while devas hovered near,
  Watching each heart-throb, breathing that sweet calm
  Its guardian angel gives the sleeping child.