'Wouldst thou, if haply so thou mayst, advance That blessed consummation? Wouldst thou speed The lingering hour of Earth's deliverance? Arise--the naked clothe, the hungry feed, The sick and wounded tend,--soothe the distressed. If thy weak arm cannot protect, yet plead With bold rebuke the cause of the oppressed, Kindling hot shame in Mammon's votaries, Abashed, at least, in lucre's grovelling quest; And, in the toil-worn serf, a glad surprise Awakening--when, from brute despondency, Taught to look up to heaven with dazzled eyes.-- Thus mayst thou do God service,--thus apply Thyself, within thy limit, to abate What wickedness thou seest, or misery: Thus, in a Sacred Band, associate New levies, from the adverse ranks of Sin Converted,--against Sin confederate. Or--if by outward act to serve, or win Joint followers to the standard of thy Lord, Thy lot forbid,--turn, then, thy thought within: Be each recess of thine own breast explored: There, o'er thy passions be thy victories won: There, be the altar of thy faith restored, And thou, a living sacrifice, thereon Present thyself.--This ever mayst thou do, Nor, doing this, wilt aught have left undone.' Here ceased the Voice, commissioned to renew Truth, which, of old, when Bactrian sage began Nature's dim maze to thread with slenderest clue, Its doubtful scope and dark design to scan, With inward whisper, hopeful witness bare, And justified the ways of God to man. And suddenly its warning ceased, but ere It ceased, the scales had fallen from my eyes, And I beheld, and shall I not declare What my uncurtained vision testifies? Shall coward lips the word of life suppress? The oracle vouchsafed from Heaven disguise? Nay, as one crying in the wilderness, Where none else hearken, to the vacant air And stolid mountains utters his distress, E'en so will I too cry aloud, 'Prepare Before Him the Lord's way. Make His path straight,' Nor heed though none regard me, nor forbear Though all revile, but patiently await Till, like light breath that panting meads exhale, And scornful zephyrs lightly dissipate, But which, full surely, down the echoing vale, Shall roll with sounding current, swift and loud, My slighted message likewise shall prevail, Entering the heart of many a mourner, bowed Beneath despair, and with inspiring voice Calling to hope to cleave her midnight cloud, And bidding grief, in hope's new dawn, rejoice.