I
ALL you that are enamored of my name | |
| And least intent on what most I require, | |
| Beware; for my design and your desire, | |
| Deplorably, are not as yet the same. | |
| |
| Beware, I say, the failure and the shame | 5 |
| Of losing that for which you now aspire | |
| So blindly, and of hazarding entire | |
| The gift that I was bringing when I came. | |
| |
| Give as I will, I cannot give you sight | |
| Whereby to see that with you there are some | 10 |
| To lead you, and be led. But they are dumb | |
| Before the wrangling and the shrill delight | |
| Of your deliverance that has not come, | |
| And shall not, if I fail you—as I might. | |
| |
II
SO little have you seen of what awaits | 15 |
| Your fevered glimpse of a democracy | |
| Confused and foiled with an equality | |
| Not equal to the envy it creates, | |
| That you see not how near you are the gates | |
| Of an old king who listens fearfully | 20 |
| To you that are outside and are to be | |
| The noisy lords of imminent estates. | |
| |
| Rather be then your prayer that you shall have | |
| Your kingdom undishonored. Having all, | |
| See not the great among you for the small, | 25 |
| But hear their silence; for the few shall save | |
| The many, or the many are to fall— | |
| Still to be wrangling in a noisy grave. | |
