What is your money-making now? What can it do now? What is your respectability now? What are your theology, tuition, society, traditions, statute-books, now? Where are your jibes of being now? Where are your cavils about the Soul now? Was that your best? Were those your vast and solid? Riches, opinions, politics, institutions, to part obediently from the path of one man or woman! The centuries, and all authority, to be trod under the foot-soles of one man or woman! 7. A sterile landscape covers the ore--there is as good as the best, for all the forbidding appearance; There is the mine, there are the miners; The forge-furnace is there, the melt is accomplished; the hammersmen are at hand with their tongs and hammers; What always served and always serves is at hand. Than this nothing has better served--it has served all: Served the fluent-tongued and subtle-sensed Greek, and long ere the Greek; Served in building the buildings that last longer than any; Served the Hebrew, the Persian, the most ancient Hindostanee; Served the mound-raiser on the Mississippi--served those whose relics remain in Central America; Served Albic temples in woods or on plains, with unhewn pillars, and the druids; Served the artificial clefts, vast, high, silent, on the snow-covered hills of Scandinavia; Served those who, time out of mind, made on the granite walls rough sketches of the sun, moon, stars, ships, ocean-waves; Served the paths of the irruptions of the Goths--served the pastoral tribes and nomads; Served the long long distant Kelt--served the hardy pirates of the Baltic; Served, before any of those, the venerable and harmless men of Ethiopia; Served the making of helms for the galleys of pleasure, and the making of those for war; Served all great works on land, and all great works on the sea; For the mediaeval ages, and before the mediaeval ages; Served not the living only, then as now, but served the dead. 8. I see the European headsman; He stands masked, clothed in red, with huge legs and strong naked arms, And leans on a ponderous axe. Whom have you slaughtered lately, European headsman? Whose is that blood upon you, so wet and sticky? I see the clear sunsets of the martyrs; I see from the scaffolds the descending ghosts, Ghosts of dead lords, uncrowned ladies, impeached ministers, rejected kings, Rivals, traitors, poisoners, disgraced chieftains, and the rest. I see those who in any land have died for the good cause; The seed is spare, nevertheless the crop shall never run out; (Mind you, O foreign kings, O priests, the crop shall never run out.) I see the blood washed entirely away from the axe; Both blade and helve are clean; They spirt no more the blood of European nobles--they clasp no more the necks of queens.