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     The new Prometheus steals once more
The fire that wakes the dead. “

Throb on, strong pulse of thunder! beat
     From answering beach to beach;
Fuse nations in thy kindly heat,
     And melt the chains of each!

Wild terror of the sky above,
     Glide tamed and dumb below!
Bear gently, Ocean's carrier-dove,
     Thy errands to and fro.

Weave on, swift shuttle of the Lord,
     Beneath the deep so far,
The bridal robe of earth's accord,
     The funeral shroud of war!

For lo! the fall of Ocean's wall
     Space mocked and time outrun;
And round the world the thought of all
     Is as the thought of one!

The poles unite, the zones agree,
     The tongues of striving cease;
As on the Sea of Galilee
     The Christ is whispering, Peace!


‘Glad prophecy! to this at last,’
     The Reader said, “shall all things come.
Forgotten be the bugle's blast,
     And battle-music of the drum.

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1858 AD (1)
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