Revolutions
Before
man
parted
for
this
earthly
strand,
While
yet
upon
the
verge
of
heaven
he
stood,
God
put
a
heap
of
letters
in
his
hand,
And
bade
him
make
with
them
what
word
he
could.
And
man
has
turn'd
them
many
times;
made
Greece,
Rome,
England,
France;--yes,
nor
in
vain
essay'd
Way
after
way,
changes
that
never
cease!
The
letters
have
combined,
something
was
made.
But
ah!
an
inextinguishable
sense
Haunts
him
that
he
has
not
made
what
he
should;
That
he
has
still,
though
old,
to
recommence,
Since
he
has
not
yet
found
the
word
God
would.
And
empire
after
empire,
at
their
height
Of
sway,
have
felt
this
boding
sense
come
on;
Have
felt
their
huge
frames
not
constructed
right,
And
droop'd,
and
slowly
died
upon
their
throne.
One
day,
thou
say'st,
there
will
at
last
appear
The
word,
the
order,
which
God
meant
should
be.
--Ah!
we
shall
know
_that_
well
when
it
comes
near;
The
band
will
quit
man's
heart,
he
will
breathe
free.