With a sky-piercing flag unfurled
Atop His Great Chariot, there He is –
There He goes on His march on the streets.
Come anon, come rushing hither,
For you must pull these ropes now –
Why remain couched and still,
In an obscure corner of your room!
Rushing headfirst into the swelling crowd,
Find you must a place for yourself somehow!
Whatever be your chores at the house,
Give them up you must on this day.
Pull these ropes with all the strength
Of your body and your blessèd mind,
Pull these ropes by giving up
This illusion of your trivial life,
Keep pulling thro’ the dark and the light,
Keep pulling thro’ the towns and hamlets,
And through the forests, and the hills.
Lo! The wheel turns with a great tumult,
Can you not hear the sound in thine own heart?
Does not your life sway with the tides of blood?
Does not your mind sing a song of triumph o’er death?
Does not your desire, like the great rushing floods,
Reach out tothe colossal, wondroustimes ahead?
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