Oh ages! add with reverend light
New splendors to the name of him
Who fought for conscience a good fight,
And sung for truth the morning hymn!

Who, when old sanctions like a flood
Drove wrathful on, to work his fall,
Put forth his single hand and stood
Sublimer, mightier than they all.

Stood, from all precedent apart,
The double challenge to prefer—
A conflict with his own weak heart
As well as with the powers that were.

Who spake, and, speaking, clave in twain
The mocking symbols in his way;
Who prayed, and scoffing tongues grew fain
To pray the prayers they heard him pray.

Who, guided by a righteous aim,
Enkindled with his mortal breath
A beacon, on the cliffs of fame,
That shines across the wastes of death;

From cell to old cathedral height,
From cowléd monk to vestal nun,
As, through the cloudy realms of night,
The fiery seams of daybreak run—

Till in the pilgrim's way, the reeds
Like unto strong red cedars thrive,
And free from wrappings of old creeds
The corpse of thought stands up alive.

Gone from the watchings of the night,
The wrestling might of lonely prayers;—
Oh, ages! add your reverend light
To the great glory that he bears!