Hark! what a voice comes crying through the night,
How does it thrill my too obsequious ears!
“O God, that knowledge should be wisdom hight,
And men should broadcast sow big-bellied years:”
Should a strong spirit descend, and wave his wand,
And gaze, and breathe inventions into life;
And fit all systems, with his dexterous hand,
Into a social perfectness from strife,—
’Twere much; and goodly heaven-descended Peace
Should sprout her blossoms, beautiful, o’er the land:
I question yet, if jars should wholly cease,
Or hatreds yield their once-accomplished stand:
An automaton world may merchandise, weave, spin;
Riches shall swell, not harmonise, its din.