THE PAST O Spirit of the Past! Who hath not heard -- High on the sacred hills, when no wind blew, Rising from valleys where no echo stirred -- The murmur of the ages, floating through The silences of thought? nor seen In sleep the swift feet of the dreams flash by, When each revealing footfall is a light Thrusting a spear of flame into the night, Opening eternal doors, and bringing nigh What shall be, and hath been? For who shall call the Past a skein undone, And not a part of that which shall return? Man wheels his circle round a deathless sun, And with each meeting curve new splendours burn That shall for ever glow. For all deeds, all events, are quenchless lights: All that is done, is gained; what hath been, is: Down in the plain are blind uncertainties, But they who stand upon the mountain heights, Watching the world, they know. -- George Arthur Greene