Before man parted for this earthly strand, <br />While yet upon the verge of heaven he stood, <br />God put a heap of letters in his hand, <br />And bade him make with them what word he could. <br /> <br />And man has turn'd them many times; made Greece, <br />Rome, England, France;--yes, nor in vain essay'd <br />Way after way, changes that never cease! <br />The letters have combined, something was made. <br /> <br />But ah! an inextinguishable sense <br />Haunts him that he has not made what he should; <br />That he has still, though old, to recommence, <br />Since he has not yet found the word God would. <br /> <br />And empire after empire, at their height <br />Of sway, have felt this boding sense come on; <br />Have felt their huge frames not constructed right, <br />And droop'd, and slowly died upon their throne. <br /> <br />One day, thou say'st, there will at last appear <br />The word, the order, which God meant should be. <br />--Ah! we shall know _that_ well when it comes near; <br />The band will quit man's heart, he will breathe free.<br /><br />Matthew Arnold<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/revolutions/
