The Juvenis Adorans

Nathaniel Frothingham

Timber's yellow flood
Darkest tales can tell,
Where the mightiest stood.
How the haughtiest fell.

Tiber's sedgy banks
Rustle with the past.
Ah, that Rome's bright rauks
Should fade to this at last!

Tiber's muddy bed!
Beneath thy burial lid —
If true what men have said —
Treasures of spoil lie hid.

And we were truly told.
I'rom those foul deeps they raise
A form of vigorous mould;
And behold! he prays.

Not crouchingly he stands,
Not kneeling as in dread,
Not clasped his eager hands,
Not bowed his noble head.

His gaze is on the sky.
As if his trust were there;
His arms stretched wide and high.
As if his thanks were prayer.

His youth breathes strong of hope,
And life's full, generous fires,
As towards that heavenly cope
He worships and aspires.

So at the Easter-tide
The churches rose and stood;
Throwing all stoop aside,
And every mournful mood.

O genius of new days!
Hail from thine ancient tomb;
Now let thy spirit's blaze
Chase the old world of gloom.

Bright one! thine influence pour
On man so prone and sad;
And teach him how to adore,
And to be free and glad.


Main Location:

Berlin, Germany