On the rock primeval, hidden in the
Past its bases be,
Block by block the endeavoring Ages
built it up to what we see.

But dig down: the Old unbury; thou

shalt find on every stone

That each Age hath carved the symbol of what god to them was known. Ugly shapes and brutish sometimes, but the fairest that they knew; If their sight were dim and earthward, yet their hope and aim were true.

Surely as the unconscious needle feels the far-off loadstar draw,

So strives every gracious nature to atone itself with law;

And the elder Saints and Sages laid their

pious framework right

By a theocratic instinct covered from the people's sight.

As their gods were, so their laws were ; Thor the strong could reave and steal,

So through many a peaceful inlet tore the Norseman's eager keel;

But a new law came when Christ came, and not blameless, as before, Can we, paying him our lip-tithes, give our lives and faiths to Thor.

Law is holy: ay, but what law? Is there nothing more divine Than the patched-up broils of Congress,

- venal, full of meat and wine? Is there, say you, nothing higher? Naught, God save us! that transcends

Laws of cotton texture, wove by vulgar men for vulgar ends?

Did Jehovah ask their counsel, or sub

mit to them a plan, Ere he filled with loves, hopes, longings, this aspiring heart of man? For their edict does the soul wait, ere it swing round to the pole Of the true, the free, the God-willed, all

that makes it be a soul?

Law is holy; but not your law, ye who keep the tablets whole While ye dash the Law to pieces, shatter it in life and soul;

Him who alone is mighty and great."

With carpets of gold the ground they spread

Wherever the Son of Man should tread, And in palace-chambers lofty and rare They lodged him, and served him with kingly fare.

Great organs surged through arches dim Their jubilant floods in praise of him; And in church, and palace, and judg ment-hall,

He saw his image high over all.

But still, wherever his steps they led, The Lord in sorrow bent down his head, And from under the heavy foundationstones,

The son of Mary heard bitter groans.

And in church, and palace, and judg. ment-hall,

He marked great fissures that rent the wall,

And opened wider and yet more wide As the living foundation heaved and sighed.

"Have ye founded your thrones and altars, then,

On the bodies and souls of living men And think ye that building shall endure, Which shelters the noble and crushes the poor?

"Our task is hard, with sword and flame

To hold thine earth forever the same,
And with sharp crooks of steel to keep
Still, as thou leftest them, thy sheep.'
Then Christ sought out an artisan,
A low-browed, stunted, haggard man,
And a motherless girl, whose fingers thin
Pushed from her faintly want and sin.

These set he in the midst of them,
And as they drew back their garment-
For fear of defilement, “Lo, here," said
hem,

he,

"The images ye have made of me !"

ODE

WRITTEN FOR THE CELEBRATION OF THE INTRODUCTION OF THE COCHITUATE WATER INTO THE CITY OF BOSTON.

My name is Water: I have sped Through strange, dark ways, untried before,

By pure desire of friendship led,

Cochituate's ambassador;

He sends four royal gifts by me:
Long life, health, peace, and purity.

I'm Ceres' cup-bearer ; I pour,

For flowers and fruits and all their kin, Her crystal vintage, from of yore

Stored in old Earth's selectest bin, Flora's Falernian ripe, since God The wine-press of the deluge trod.

In that far isle whence, iron-willed,
The New World's sires their bark
unmoored,

The fairies' acorn-cups I filled
Upon the toadstool's silver board,