THE GOLDEN AGE.
These are the days of promise, by old-time seers sung
In the clear light of the morning, when earth and man were young.
This is the shining future which, ancient bards foretold,
Should crown the bright'ning ages with a final age of gold!
Ours are the years of fruitage; we are the heirs of Time.
Yes, the great world hangs a-rip'ning now in its golden prime;
Never will grand achievement shine as it shines to-day,
For the world will return to chaos, and men will return to clay.
This is the time for living; these are the pregnant days;—
What are you doing, brother, for the manhood of the race?
Give what is best within you; labor with labor crown;
Your hand is on the lever, and the world goes up or down!
Mighty the forces of evil; terrible sweep the stars;
Portents are darkly lowering; devils are breaking their bars.
Now is the time, if ever, to stand on the side of right.
To help roll the world out of shadow into the broadening light.
Surely, the right will triumph—grant it, О God, above!
The arc of thy plan is wisdom, as the arc of life is love;
Help us to make the human as God-like as we may,
Ere earth returns to chaos, and men return to clay!
--From Good housekeeping--