Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE MARTYRS OF THE MIND, by RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Honour to the sacred past! Last Line: From the martyrs of the mind. Alternate Author Name(s): Houghton, 1st Baron; Houghton, Lord Subject(s): Mankind; Thought; Human Race; Thinking | ||||||||
HONOUR to the sacred Past! Reverence to the ancient days! Yet believe them not the last That demand your love and praise: Think not that the olden story Can within its depth enfold All the beauty and the glory That the heart of Man can hold. Think not rashly that, because Modern life is smooth and fine, 'Tis not subject to the laws Of the Master's high design: That we less require endurance Than in days of coarser plan, -- That we less demand assurance Of the Godhead hid in Man. Trust me, Truth is still at war, Just as in the hard old time, With a thousand things that are -- Births of woe and food for crime: Still to vindicate the right Is a rough and thankless game; Still the leader in the fight Is the hindmost in the fame. True, the penal fires are out -- True, the rack in rust has lain -- But the secret burning Doubt And the pangs of Thought remain: True, the mind of Man is free -- Free to speak and write at will, But a power you cannot see Still can plague, and waste, and kill. Very tame our passions nestle, Very even seem our brows, Outward forces rarely wrestle, Soft the words the age allows: Incommunicable sadness Yet is haunting all the while -- Yet one day the crouching madness Leaps from under all the smile. Ours is not the early Faith Which our fathers gazed upon, Till the iron gates of Death With a golden splendour shone; We must rest content with Hope, Fair to aid, but frail to rule: Gentle Hope! too weak to cope With the villain and the fool. Ours the shame to understand That the World prefers the lie That, with medicine in her hand, She will sink and choose to die; Ours the agonising sense Of the Heaven this Earth might be, If, from their blank indifference, Men woke one hour and felt as we! Heroes of the inward strife, Whom your spirit cannot prize; Saints of the mysterious life, Whom no Church can canonize; Unremembered -- unrecorded -- They are passing by you now; Other gifts are here rewarded, To far other names you bow. Yet the Power appears to-morrow, That to-day seems wholly lost, And the reproductive sorrow Is a treasure worth the cost: Fate permits no break or suture In the' Ideal of Mankind, Weaving out its brightest Future From the Martyrs of the Mind. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MILLE ET UN SENTIMENTS (PREMIERS CENTS) by DENISE DUHAMEL SUNDAY AFTERNOON by CLARENCE MAJOR I BROOD ABOUT SOME CONCEPTS, FOR EXAMPLE by ALICIA SUSKIN OSTRIKER EASY LESSONS IN GEOPHAGY by KENNETH REXROTH GENTLEMEN, I ADDRESS YOU PUBLICLY by KENNETH REXROTH ON FLOWER WREATH HILL: 1 by KENNETH REXROTH COLUMBUS AND THE MAYFLOWER by RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES |
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