Page:Pocahontas, and Other Poems.djvu/291

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Of gentle Plato bow the listening soul

To search for wisdom, and with reason's art

Build the fair argument. Behold the throngs

Press on the speaker, drawing still more close

In denser circles, as his thrilling tones

Speak of the God who " warneth everywhere

Men to repent," and of that fearful day

When He shall judge the world. Loud tumult wakes,

The tide of strong emotion hoarsely swells,

And that blest voice is silent. They have mocked

At Heaven's high messenger, and he departs

From the mad circle. But his graceful hand

Points to an altar, with its mystic scroll

" The Unknown God." Oh ! Athens ! is it so ?

Thou who hast crowned thyself with woven rays

As a divinity, and called the world

Thy pilgrim-worshipper, dost thou confess

Such ignorance and shame ?

The Unknown God !

Why, all thy hillocks and resounding streams Do boast their deity, and every house, Yea, every beating heart within thy walls, May choose its temple and its priestly train, Victim and garland, and appointed rite ; Thou makest the gods of every realm thine own, Fostering, with frantic hospitality, All forms of idol-worship. Can it be That still thou found'st not Him who is so near T 2

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