A Morning Hymn

By George Sterling

Despite the Fate's imputed ban,—
  Despite all evil that we see,
  Let us have faith in good to be,
And in the ascendant soul of man!

No chain shall bind, no distance bar
  The winged heart, the fearless feat
  That from the midnight ran to meet
The morn below the morning star.

Tho' sages whisper him dismay, —
  Tho' many doubt and many drowse,
  The great foundations of his House
Man in his vision plans today.

The singing legions yet shall pour
  From out the Future's shadowy gates,
  To meet the challenge of new Fates
And issues of a vaster War.

To fashion man his shining mail,
  A thousand thousand anvils ring;
  From out his mills new voices sing,
Assuring that he shall not fail.

Prate not of leisures to the sea,
  Nor taunt with age the blinding sun!
  A myriad years his course has run;
A myriad seasons yet shall be.

On vassal sea and conquered soil
  Shall man lay mighty hands and sure;
  His flaming purpose shall endure,
Who yet shall yoke the sun to toil.

Lit by that sun within his brain,
  His will shall storm the giants' hold
  Where hide the Energies untold,
And he shall portion each its chain.

Before his sword's astounding thrust,
  Deathward his ancient foes shall reel,
  Where stranger wars demand his steel,
In realms now formless in the dust.

No pain shall baffle nor deny
  The legions of his victory.
  "Vitality! Vitality"
The billows and the forges cry.

All good the prophets could foretell
  He hears his engines now repeat,
  And from the pathless holy wheat,
The promise, "All shall yet be well!"

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