Now for the means thereto. Ah, confidence —
Keep we together or part company? This is the critical minute! "Such my end?" Certainly; how could it be otherwise? Can there be question which was the right task — To save or to destroy society? Why, even prove that, by some miracle, Destruction were the proper work to choose, And that a torch best remedies what's wrong I' the temple, whence the long procession wound Of powers and beauties, earth's achievements all. The human strength that strove and overthrew, — The human love that, weak itself, crowned strength, — The instinct crying "God is whence I came!" — The reason laying down the law "And such His will i' the world must be!" — the leap and shout Of genius "For I hold His very thoughts, The meaning of the mind of Him!" — nay, more The ingenuities, each active force That turning in a circle on itselt Looks neither up nor down but keeps the spot. Mere creature-like and, for religion, works, Works only and works ever, makes and shapes And changes, still wrings more of good from less, Still stamps some bad out, where was worst before. So leaves the handiwork, the act and deed. Were it but house and land and wealth, to show Here was a creature perfect in the kind — Whether as bee, beaver, or behemoth, What's the importance? he has done his work For work's sake, worked well, earned a creature's praise; — I say, concede that same fane, whence deploys Age after age, all this humanity, Diverse but ever dear, out of the dark Behind the altar into the broad day By the portal — enter, and, concede there mocks Each lover of free motion and much space A perplexed length of apse and aisle and nave, — Pillared roof and carved screen, and what care I? That irk the movement and impede the march, — Nay, possibly, bring flat upon his nose At some odd break-neck angle, by some freak Of old-world artistry, that personage Who, could he but have kept his skirts from grief And catching at the hooks and crooks about, Had stepped out on the daylight of our time Plainly the man of the age, — still, still, I bar Excessive conflagration in the case. "Shake the flame freely!" shout the multitude: The architect approves I stuck my torch Inside a good stout lantern, hung its light Above the hooks and crooks, and ended so. To save society was well: the means Whereby to save it, — there begins the doubt Permitted you, imperative on me; Were mine the best means? Did I work aright With powers appointed me? — since powers denied Concern me nothing.