Standard Selections Part 27

For humanity sweeps onward; where to-day the martyr stands, On the morrow crouches Judas with the silver in his hands; Far in front the cross stands ready and the crackling f.a.gots burn, While the hooting mob of yesterday in silent awe return To glean up the scattered ashes into history's golden urn.

'Tis as easy to be heroes as to sit the idle slaves Of a legendary virtue carved upon our fathers' graves.

Worshipers of light ancestral make the present light a crime; Was the Mayflower launched by cowards, steered by men behind their time?

Turn those tracks toward past or future that make Plymouth Rock sublime?

They have rights who dare maintain them; we are traitors to our sires, Smothering in their holy ashes freedom's new-lit altar fires.

Shall we make their creed our jailer? Shall we, in our haste to slay, From the tombs of the old prophets steal the funeral lamps away To light the martyr-f.a.gots round the prophets of to-day?

New occasions teach new duties; time makes ancient good uncouth; They must upward still and onward, who would keep abreast of truth; Lo, before us gleam her camp-fires! We ourselves must Pilgrims be, Launch our Mayflower, and steer boldly through the desperate winter sea, Nor attempt the future's portal with the past's blood-rusted key.

FOOTNOTE:

[25] Used by permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co., authorized publishers of this author's works.

THE RECESSIONAL

RUDYARD KIPLING

G.o.d of our fathers, known of old-- Lord of our far-flung battle line-- Beneath whose awful hand we hold Dominion over palm and pine; Lord G.o.d of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget,--lest we forget.

The tumult and the shouting dies, The captains and the kings depart-- Still stands thine ancient sacrifice, An humble and a contrite heart.

Lord G.o.d of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget,--lest we forget.

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose Wild tongues that have not thee in awe-- Such boastings as the Gentiles use, Or lesser breeds without the Law-- Lord G.o.d of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget,--lest we forget!

For heathen heart that puts her trust In reeking tube and iron shard-- All valiant dust that builds on dust, And guarding calls not thee to guard, For frantic boast and foolish word, Thy mercy on thy people, Lord!

THE SACREDNESS OF WORK

THOMAS CARLYLE

All true work is sacred; in all true hand-labor, there is something of divineness. Labor, wide as the earth, has its summit in Heaven. Sweat of the brow; and up from that to sweat of the brain, sweat of the heart; which includes all Kepler's calculations, Newton's meditations, all sciences, all spoken epics, all acted heroism, martyrdoms--up to that "Agony of b.l.o.o.d.y sweat," which all men have called divine! Oh, brother, if this is not "worship," then, I say, the more pity for worship; for this is the n.o.blest thing yet discovered under G.o.d's sky!

Who art thou that complainest of thy life of toil? Complain not. Look up, my wearied brother; see thy fellow-workmen there, in G.o.d's Eternity; surviving there, they alone surviving; sacred Band of the Immortals, celestial Body-guard of the Empire of Mind. Even in the weak human memory they survive so long, as saints, as heroes, as G.o.ds; they alone surviving; peopling the immeasured solitudes of Time! To thee Heaven, though severe, is not unkind; Heaven is kind--as a n.o.ble mother; as that Spartan mother, saying, while she gave her son his shield, "With it, my son, or upon it!" Thou, too, shalt return home, in honor to thy far-distant home, doubt it not--if in the battle thou keep thy shield.

WHAT'S HALLOWED GROUND?

THOMAS CAMPBELL

What's hallowed ground? Has earth a clod Its Maker meant not should be trod By man, the image of his G.o.d, Erect and free, Unscourged by superst.i.tion's rod To bow the knee?

What hallows ground where heroes sleep?

'Tis not the sculptured piles you heap, In dews that Heavens far distant weep, Their turf may bloom, Or Genii twine beneath the deep Their coral tomb.

But strew his ashes to the wind, Whose sword or voice has saved mankind, And is he dead, whose glorious mind Lifts thine on high?

To live in hearts we leave behind Is not to die!

Is't death to fall for Freedom's right?

He's dead alone that lacks her light!

And murder sullies, in Heaven's sight The sword he draws.

What can alone enn.o.ble fight?

A n.o.ble cause.

What's hallowed ground? 'Tis what gives birth To sacred thoughts in souls of worth.

Peace! Independence! Truth! go forth Earth's compa.s.s round, And your high priesthood shall make earth All hallowed ground.

III

PATRIOTIC, HEROIC, ORATORICAL

THE SEVEN GREAT ORATORS OF THE WORLD

Harvard University after mature consideration has proclaimed that in the history of eloquence there are seven great orators who stand preeminent above other orators whom the world calls great. A visitor to that venerable inst.i.tution of learning, on coming to Memorial Hall, will find at the theater end, on the outside and just above the cornice, seven niches containing gigantic busts of these seven orators: Demosthenes, the Greek; Cicero, the Roman; Chrysostom, the Asiatic Greek; Bossuet, the Frenchman; Chatham, the Englishman; Burke, the Irishman; and Webster, the American.

It is in furtherance of this idea that we have selected short pa.s.sages of eloquence from each of these men; and also with the threefold purpose of acquainting young students with masterpieces of oratory since the dawn of history, of providing pa.s.sages well worth committing to memory, and offering extracts well suited for practice in public speaking.

I. DEMOSTHENES

THE ENCROACHMENTS OF PHILIP[26]

Men of Athens, if any one regard without uneasiness the might and dominion of Philip, and imagine that it threatens no danger to the state, or that all his preparations are not against you, I marvel, and would entreat you every one to hear briefly from me the reasons why I am led to form a contrary expectation, and why I deem Philip an enemy; that, if I appear to have the clearer foresight, you may hearken to me; if they, who have such confidence and trust in Philip, you may give your adherence to them.

What did Philip first make himself master of after the peace? Thermopylae and the Phocian state. And how used he his power? He chose to act for the benefit of Thebes, not of Athens. Why so? Because, I conceive, measuring his calculations by ambition, by his desire of universal empire, without regard to peace, quiet, or justice, he saw plainly that to a people of our character and principles nothing could he offer or give that would induce you for self-interest to sacrifice any of the Greeks to him. He sees that you, having respect for justice, dreading the infamy of the thing, and exercising proper forethought, would oppose him in any such attempt as much as if you were at war. But the Thebans, he expected, would, in return for the services done them, allow him in everything else to have his way, and, so far from thwarting or impeding him, would fight on his side if he required it. You are judged by these to be the only people incapable of betraying for lucre the national rights of Greece, or bartering your attachment to her for any obligation or benefit. And this opinion of you he has naturally formed, not only from a view of present times, but by reflection on the past. For a.s.suredly he finds and hears that your ancestors, who might have governed the rest of Greece on terms of submitting to Persia, not only spurned the proposal when Alexander, this man's ancestor, came as herald to negotiate, but preferred to abandon their country and endure any suffering, and thereafter achieved such exploits as all the world loves to remember,--though none could ever speak them worthily, and therefore I must be silent, for their deeds are too mighty to be uttered in words.

But the forefathers of the Thebans either joined the barbarian's army or did not oppose it; and therefore he knows that they will selfishly embrace their advantage, without considering the common interest of the Greeks. He thought then if he chose your friendship, it must be on just principles; if he attached himself to them, he should find auxiliaries of his ambition. This is the reason of his preferring them to you both then and now. For certainly he does not see them with a larger navy than you, nor has he acquired an inland empire and renounced that of the sea and the ports, nor does he forget the professions and promises on which he obtained the peace.

I cannot think that Philip, either if he was forced into his former measures, or if he were now giving up the Thebans, would pertinaciously oppose their enemies; his present conduct rather shows that he adopted those measures by choice. All things prove to a correct observer that his whole plan of action is against our state. And this has now become to him a sort of necessity. Consider. He desires empire; he conceives you to be his only opponents. He has been for some time wronging you, as his own conscience best informs him, since, by retaining what belongs to you, he secures the rest of his dominion. He knows that he is plotting against you, and that you are aware of it; and supposing you to have intelligence, he thinks you must hate him; he is alarmed, expecting some disaster, unless he hastens to prevent you. Therefore he is awake and on the watch against us; he courts certain people, who from cupidity, he thinks, will be satisfied with the present, and from dullness of understanding will foresee none of the consequences.

I imagine that what Philip is doing will grieve you hereafter more than it does now. I see the thing progressing, and would that my surmises were false, but I doubt it is too near already. So when you are able no longer to disregard events, when, instead of hearing from me or others that these measures are against Athens, you all see it yourselves and know it for certain, I expect you will be wrathful and exasperated. I fear then, as your amba.s.sadors have concealed the purpose for which they know they were corrupted, those who endeavor to repair what the others have lost may chance to encounter your resentment, for I see it is a practice with many to vent their anger, not upon the guilty, but on persons most in their power. Had you not been then deceived there would be nothing to distress the state. Philip would certainly never have prevailed at sea and come to Attica with a fleet, nor would he have marched with a land force by Phocis and Thermopylae; he must either have acted honorably, observing the peace and keeping quiet, or been immediately in a war similar to that which made him desire the peace.