Chapter_42

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Into the dust of the making of man

Spirit was breathed when his life began,

Lifting him up from his low estate,

With masterful passion, the wish to create.

Out of the dust of his making, man

Fashioned his works as the ages ran;

Fortress, and palace, and temple, and tower,

Filling the world with the proof of his power.

Over the dust that awaits him, man,

Building the walls that his pride doth plan,

Dreams they will stand in the light of the sun

Bearing his name till Time is done.

The monuments of mortals

Are as the glory of the grass;

Through Time’s dim portals

A voiceless, viewless wind doth pass,

The blossoms fall before it in a day,

The forest monarchs year by year decay,

And man’s great buildings slowly fade away.

One after one,

They pay to that dumb breath

The tribute of their death,

And are undone.

The towers incline to dust,

The massive girders rust,

The domes dissolve in air,

The pillars that upbear

The lofty arches crumble, stone by stone,

While man the builder looks about him in despair,

For all his works of pride and power are overthrown.

A Voice came from the sky:

“Set thy desires more high.

Thy buildings fade away

Because thou buildest clay.

Now make the fabric sure

With stones that will endure!

Hewn from the spiritual rock,

The immortal towers of the soul

At Death’s dissolving touch shall mock,

And stand secure while æons roll.”

Well did the wise in heart rejoice

To hear the summons of that Voice,

And patiently begin

The builder’s work within,

Houses not made with hands,

Nor founded on the sands.

And thou, Reverèd Mother, at whose call

We come to keep thy joyous festival,

And celebrate thy labours on the walls of Truth

Through sevenscore years and ten of thine eternal youth⁠—

A master builder thou,

And on thy shining brow,

Like Cybele, in fadeless light dost wear

A diadem of turrets strong and fair.

I see thee standing in a lonely land,

But late and hardly won from solitude,

Unpopulous and rude⁠—

On that far western shore I see thee stand,

Like some young goddess from a brighter strand,

While in thine eyes a radiant thought is born,

Enkindling all thy beauty like the morn.

Sea-like the forest rolled, in waves of green,

And few the lights that glimmered, leagues between.

High in the north, for fourscore years alone

Fair Harvard’s earliest beacon-tower had shone

When Yale was lighted, and an answering ray

Flashed from the meadows by New Haven Bay.

But deeper spread the forest, and more dark,

Where first Neshaminy received the spark

Of sacred learning to a woodland camp,

And Old Log College glowed with Tennant’s lamp.

Thine, Alma Mater, was the larger sight,

That saw the future of that trembling light,

And thine the courage, thine the stronger will,

That built its loftier home on Princeton Hill.

“New light!” men cried, and murmured that it came

From an unsanctioned source with lawless flame;

It shone too free, for still the church and school

Must only shine according to their rule.

But Princeton answered, in her nobler mood,

“God made the light, and all the light is good.

There is no war between the old and new;

The conflict lies between the false and true.

The stars, that high in heaven their courses run,

In glory differ, but their light is one.

The beacons, gleaming o’er the sea of life,

Are rivals but in radiance, not in strife.

Shine on, ye sister-towers, across the night!

I too will build a lasting house of light.”

Brave was that word of faith and bravely was it kept:

With never-wearying zeal that faltered not, nor slept,

Our Alma Mater toiled, and while she firmly laid

The deep foundation-walls, at all her toil she prayed.

And men who loved the truth because it made them free,

And clearly saw the twofold Word of God agree,

Reading from Nature’s book and from the Bible’s page

By the same inward ray that grows from age to age,

Were built like living stones that beacon to uplift,

And drawing light from heaven gave to the world the gift.

Nor ever, while they searched the secrets of the earth,

Or traced the stream of life through mystery to its birth,

Nor ever, while they taught the lightning-flash to bear

The messages of man in silence through the air,

Fell from their home of light one false, perfidious ray

To blind the trusting heart, or lead the life astray.

But still, while knowledge grew more luminous and broad

It lit the path of faith and showed the way to God.

Yet not for peace alone

Labour the builders.

Work that in peace has grown

Swiftly is overthrown,

When in the darkening skies

Storm-clouds of wrath arise,

And through the cannon’s crash,

War’s deadly lightning-flash

Smites and bewilders.

Ramparts of strength must frown

Round every placid town

And city splendid;

All that our fathers wrought

With true prophetic thought,

Must be defended!

But who could raise protecting walls for thee,

Thou young, defenceless land of liberty?

Or who could build a fortress strong enough,

Or stretch a mighty bulwark long enough

To hold thy far-extended coast

Against the overweening host

That took the open path across the sea,

And like a tempest poured

Their desolating horde,

To quench thy dawning light in gloom of tyranny?

Yet not unguarded thou wert found

When on thy shore with sullen sound

The blaring trumpets of an unjust king

Proclaimed invasion. From the ground,

In freedom’s darkest hour, there seemed to spring

Unconquerable walls for her defence;

Not trembling, like those battlements of stone

That fell when Joshua’s horns were blown;

But firm and stark the living rampart rose,

To meet the onset of imperious foes

With a long line of brave, unyielding men.

This was thy fortress, well-defended land,

And on these walls, the patient, building hand

Of Princeton laboured with the force of ten.

Her sons were foremost in the furious fight;

Her sons were firmest to uphold the right

In council-chambers of the new-born State,

And prove that he who would be free must first be great

In heart, and high in thought, and strong

In purpose not to do or suffer wrong.

Such were the men, impregnable to fear,

Whose souls were framed and fashioned here;

And when war shook the land with threatening shock,

The men of Princeton stood like muniments of rock.

Nor has the breath of Time

Dissolved that proud array

Of never-broken strength:

For though the rocks decay,

And all the iron bands

Of earthly strongholds are unloosed at length,

And buried deep in gray oblivion’s sands;

The work that heroes’ hands

Wrought in the light of freedom’s natal day

Shall never fade away,

But lifts itself, sublime

Into a lucid sphere,

For ever calm and clear,

Preserving in the memory of the fathers’ deed,

A never-failing fortress for their children’s need.

There we confirm our hearts to-day, and read

On many a stone the signature of fame,

The builder’s mark, our Alma Mater’s name.

Bear with us then a moment, while we turn

From all the present splendours of this place⁠—

The lofty towers that like a dream have grown

Where once old Nassau Hall stood all alone⁠—

Back to that ancient time, with hearts that burn

In filial gratitude, to trace

The glory of our mother’s best degree,

In that “high son of Liberty,”

Who like a granite block,

Riven from Scotland’s rock,

Stood loyal here to keep Columbia free.

Born far away beyond the ocean’s tide,

He found his fatherland upon this side;

And every drop of ardent blood that ran

Through his great heart, was true American.

He held no fealty to a distant throne,

But made his new-found country’s cause his own.

In peril and distress,

In toil and weariness,

When darkness overcast her

With shadows of disaster,

And voices of confusion

Proclaimed her hope delusion,

Robed in his preacher’s gown,

He dared the danger down;

Like some old prophet chanting an inspired rune

In freedom’s councils rang the voice of Witherspoon.

And thou, my country, write it on thy heart:

Thy sons are they who nobly take thy part;

Who dedicates his manhood at thy shrine,

Wherever born, is born a son of thine.

Foreign in name, but not in soul, they come

To find in thee their long desired home;

Lovers of liberty and haters of disorder,

They shall be built in strength along thy border.

Dream not thy future foes

Will all be foreign-born!

Turn thy clear look of scorn

Upon thy children who oppose

Their passions wild and policies of shame

To wreck the righteous splendour of thy name.

Untaught and overconfident they rise,

With folly on their lips, and envy in their eyes:

Strong to destroy, but powerless to create,

And ignorant of all that made our fathers great,

Their hands would take away thy golden crown,

And shake the pillars of thy freedom down

In Anarchy’s ocean, dark and desolate.

O should that storm descend,

What fortress shall defend

The land our fathers wrought for,

The liberties they fought for?

What bulwark shall secure

Her shrines of law, and keep her founts of justice pure?

Then, ah then,

As in the olden days,

The builders must upraise

A rampart of indomitable men.

And once again,

Dear Mother, if thy heart and hand be true,

There will be building work for thee to do;

Yea, more than once again,

Thou shalt win lasting praise,

And never-dying honour shall be thine,

For setting many stones in that illustrious line,

To stand unshaken in the swirling strife,

And guard their country’s honour as her life.

Softly, my harp, and let me lay the touch

Of silence on these rudely clanging strings;

For he who sings

Even of noble conflicts overmuch,

Loses the inward sense of better things;

And he who makes a boast

Of knowledge, darkens that which counts the most⁠—

The insight of a wise humility

That reverently adores what none can see.

The glory of our life below

Comes not from what we do, or what we know,

But dwells forevermore in what we are.

There is an architecture grander far

Than all the fortresses of war,

More inextinguishably bright

Than learning’s lonely towers of light.

Framing its walls of faith and hope and love

In souls of men, it lifts above

The frailty of our earthly home

An everlasting dome;

The sanctuary of the human host,

The living temple of the Holy Ghost.

If music led the builders long ago,

When Arthur planned the halls of Camelot,

And made the royal city grow,

Fair as a flower in that forsaken spot;

What sweeter music shall we bring,

To weave a harmony divine

Of prayer and holy thought

Into the labours of this loftier shrine,

This consecrated hill,

Where through so many a year

Our Alma Mater’s hand hath wrought,

With toil serene and still,

And heavenly hope, to rear

Eternal dwellings for the Only King?

Here let no martial trumpets blow,

Nor instruments of pride proclaim

The loud exultant notes of fame!

But let the chords be clear and low,

And let the anthem deeper grow,

And let it move more solemnly and slow;

For only such an ode

Can seal the harmony

Of that deep masonry

Wherein the soul of man is framed for God’s abode.

O Thou whose boundless love bestows

The joy of earth, the hope of Heaven,

And whose unchartered mercy flows

O’er all the blessings Thou hast given;

Thou by whose light alone we see;

And by whose truth our souls set free

Are made imperishably strong;

Hear Thou the solemn music of our song.

Grant us the knowledge that we need

To solve the questions of the mind,

And light our candle while we read,

To keep our hearts from going blind;

Enlarge our vision to behold

The wonders Thou hast wrought of old;

Reveal thyself in every law,

And gild the towers of truth with holy awe.

Be Thou our strength if war’s wild gust

Shall rage around us, loud and fierce;

Confirm our souls and let our trust

Be like a shield that none can pierce;

Renew the courage that prevails,

The steady faith that never fails,

And make us stand in every fight

Firm as a fortress to defend the right.

O God, control us as Thou wilt,

And guide the labour of our hand;

Let all our work be surely built

As Thou, the architect, hast planned;

But whatso’er thy power shall make

Of these frail lives, do not forsake

Thy dwelling: let thy presence rest

For ever in the temple of our breast.