Charles Mackay

Now

The venerable Past — is past;
'Tis dark, and shines not in the ray:
'Twas good, no doubt — 'tis gone at last —
There dawns another day.
Why should we sit where ivies creep,
And shroud ourselves in charnels deep;
Or the world's yesterdays deplore,
Mid crumbling ruins mossy hoar?
Why should we see with dead men's eyes,
Looking at Was from morn to night,
When the beauteous Now, the divine To B E ,
Woo with their charms our living sight?
Why should we hear but echoes dull
When the world of sound, so beautiful,
Will give us music of our own?
Why in the darkness should we grope,
When the sun, in heaven's resplendent cope,
Shines as bright as ever it shone?

Abraham saw no brighter stars
Than those which burn for thee and me.
When Homer heard the lark's sweet song,
Or night-bird's lovelier melody,
They were such sounds as Shakspere heard,
Or Chaucer, when he blessed the bird;
Such lovely sounds as we can hear. —
Great Plato saw the vernal year
Send forth its tender flowers and shoots,
And luscious autumn pour its fruits;
And we can see the lilies blow,
The corn-fields wave, the rivers flow;
For us all bounties of the earth,
For us its wisdom, love, and mirth,
If we daily walk in the sight of God,
And prize the gifts He has bestowed.

We will not dwell amid the graves,
Nor in dim twilights sit alone,
To gaze at moulder'd architraves,
Or plinths and columns overthrown;
We will not only see the light
Through painted windows cobwebb'd o'er,
Nor know the beauty of the night
Save by the moonbeam on the floor:
But in the presence of the sun,
Or moon, or stars, our hearts shall glow;
We'll look at nature face to face,
And we shall LOVE because we KNOW .
The present needs us. Every age
Bequeaths the next for heritage
No lazy luxury or delight —
But strenuous labor for the right;
For Now , the child and sire of Time,
Demands the deeds of earnest men
To make it better than the past,
And stretch the circle of its ken.
Now is a fact that men deplore,
Though it might bless them evermore,
Would they but fashion it aright:
'Tis ever new, 'tis ever bright.
Time, nor Eternity, hath seen
A repetition of delight
In all its phases: ne'er hath been
For men or angels that which is;
And that which is hath ceased to be
Ere we have breathed it, and its place
Is lost in the Eternity.
But Now is ever good and fair,
Of the Infinitude the heir,
And we of it. So let us live
That from the Past we may receive
Light for the Now — from Now a joy
That Fate nor Time shall e'er destroy.