Then in haste he came down from his Castle, With his terrible breastplate of fire, And straight upon Greatheart the valiant, He rushed with impetuous ire. But nothing dismayed, with his keen, trusty blade Greatheart smote the old Giant amain, Firm, fearless, and fast, until vanquished at last, He struggled and died on the plain. Yet ’tis said, that far down in the ages, He came to existence again. Do you deem this an idle old story, Dragged out from the dust of the Past? Alas! though so time-worn and hoary, Its truths in the Present stand fast. High up in the air, all blackened and bare, Still rises the Castle of Doubt, And the Giant, I trow, should you seek for him now, You would find him still prowling about; And the souls who go in to his Castle, Are more than the souls who come out. With the cudgel of Old Tradition, Does he beat them from day to day, And he carefully hides from their vision The Light of the Present away. The angels above, with compassionate love, A plan for their rescue devise; But the Giant cries out from his Castle of Doubt, “Beware of delusion and lies!” So they shrink back again to their prison, And fear through the Truth to grow wise. O, where is our Greatheart the valiant! A terrible warfare to wage On this old Theological Giant, The Doubt and Despair of this age? Let us rise, one and all, when our leader shall call, And each for the conflict prepare; We will march round about that old Castle of Doubt, With our “Banner of Light” on the air, And raze to its very foundations The stronghold of Giant Despair. “THE ORACLE.” LIKE the roar of distant cataracts, Like the slumbrous roll of waves, Like the night-wind in the willows, Sighing over lonely graves, Like oracular responses, Echoing from their secret caves, Comes a sound of solemn meaning From the spirits gone before; Comes a terrible “_awake thou!_” Startling man from sleep once more, Like a wild wave beating, breaking, On this Life’s tempestuous shore. In Earth’s desolated temples Have the oracles grown dumb, And the priests, with lifeless rituals, All man’s noblest powers benumb; But a solemn voice is speaking-- Speaking of the yet to come. There will be a chosen priestess, Springing from the lap of Ease, Hastening to the soul’s Dodona, Where, amid the sacred trees, She will hear divine responses, Whispered in the passing breeze.