每當新時代就要降生之際，
陣痛便扭曲著大地。
每一處農牆，每一面宮壁，
都為之一顫，
感受了分娩之苦淒。
各民族口呆目瞪，面面相覷，
祝願真理之男嬰，
要從未來之軀降生於世。

邪惡力量同樣帶著恐怖陰森，
飄蕩於各大陸，撤播災難不幸。
奴隸們不論蜷居何處，
都同感於上帝。
渾灑的熱淚，
被大地的土壤吸收殆盡，
直至一具未曾入土的屍身，
四處匍伏潛行，
填入高貴的新土。

人類心靈相連，
在大地脈脈搏動的身軀中，
本能地感受正義和邪惡的瞬息電閃。
人類巨大的身軀，
被海洋四處分離。
無論有意還是無心，
都感受了歡樂和恥辱的噴流──
一個民族的所得所失，
都與其他民族均享平分。

每一個人，每一個民族，
時代要你們作出抉擇：
在真理和謬誤的搏擊中，
歸於善還是歸於惡。
一項偉大事業，上帝之新生的彌賽亞，
讓我們選擇
盛開的鮮花還是枯朽的枝條，
左手的山羊還是右手的綿羊。
這將永遠是黑暗和光明之間的選擇。

啊，我的人民，
死神破履飛舞，
要在我們的大地揚起囂囂塵土。
你們決心已定?在哪一邊立足?
邪惡縱然飛黃橫行，
但只有真理強大無邊。
雖然她正流離失所，
但我看到俊麗、偉岸的天使大軍，
護衛著她免受邪惡的圍攻。

回顧往日的航標燈火，
如同水中的峰巔，
在遺忘的海面星星點點。
宮廷裏，市場中，
沒人聽到危機四伏的呼喊。
呼喊聲中，
上帝手中揚起無情的簸箕，
世上的渣滓被剔除，
在審判之時，
才讓我們看到留下的纍纍精華。

偉大的復仇者顯得漫不經心，
歷史篇章所記錄的，
只是舊制度和《聖經》，
在黑暗中你死我生的搏鬥。
真理始終佔據絞架，
邪惡卻登上了寶座王位──
但絞架使未來震撼。
在未知的暗影后邊，
上帝高然屹立，目光眈眈，
俯瞰他創造的一切。

此刻今時，
我們隱約看見，
何物渺小，何事偉大。
信念姍姍，
命運的鐵舵在軟弱的臂膀下緩緩挪動。
但靈魂是神奇隱奧的，
市聲嘈嘈，
從德爾斐的神洞裏，
還是傳來不祥的肅肅低語：
「誰奴役他們的子孫後代，
誰就是和罪孽握手歡語。」

奴隸制是一幫土生的庫克羅普斯，
巨人中的極恥敗類。
身為野蠻黑暗之子，
它們使大地血流成河。
在親手開解的荒漠上，
它們飢腸轆轆，
被我們真理之光刺瞎了眼睛。
它們尚在未淪落的地區，
搜尋著自己的獵物。
難道我們還要把它們的血腥手指
引向無助的兒童玩耍之所在?

站在真理一邊，
同分她寥寥的麵包，
高尚榮光。
而真理的歷程，
終將帶來榮譽和豐饒。
正義會繁榮興旺，
這是勇士的選擇。
懦夫只能靠邊站開，
因為靈魂的卑瑣而疑慮重重，
直到他的主上了十字架。
而芸芸大眾，
終將使他們曾放棄過的信念，
放發出美德的光輝。

歷歷遍數世上造就之英雄，
他們獨往獨來，為眾人而吃苦。
當眾人扔來惡言惡語的石塊時，
他們泰然自若，
放眼前望，
看到了金色光芒投在了徹底的正義一邊。
正義由他們神聖的信念所掌握，
由個人對人性、對上帝的至上安排的
樸素真理所掌握。

就著焚燒異教徒的火光，
我目送耶穌鮮血流淌的腳步，
身負永不復返的十字架，
艱難地登上新卡爾瓦利斯山。
以往的艱辛攀登，
標誌著每一個時代的人們，
如何學會兩個偉大的字眼：
信念！
自從第一個上帝征服之人，
面朝蒼天以來，
「信念」二字在預言者心中，
早已熊熊燃燒。

人性向前飛奔：
今日烈士之立足所在，
明日卻見手持銀塊的猶大，
甸伏在地。
遠望前方，
十字架已豎立，柴火堆已點燃。
昨日喧鬧的人們，
今日心懷敬畏，
默默返回，收撿四散的餘灰，
將它們放入歷史的金甕。

傳統美德之遺訓，
鋪刻在我們先輩的墓碑上。
是作她的英雄?
還是作她無為的奴隸?
悉聽其便。
古風遺言的崇拜者們，
將當今的觀念視為罪惡──
《五月花》號是由懦夫起航的嗎?
是由落伍過時者掌舵的嗎?
道路究竟通往過去還是將來，
才使普利茅斯的岩石燦爛輝煌的？

那些英雄心懷當今之勇氣，
身材魁梧，反對偶像；
斧頭和絞架不能使他們相信
一切美德僅屬過去。
然而
我們使他們的真理
變成了我們的謬誤；
我們把它珍存於霉爛的羊皮紙堆裏
以為是它贏得了我們的自由。
而我們柔弱的心靈，
卻逃避那強勁的衝動！
恰是那種衝動，
激勵了英雄們揚帆過海！

誰能維護權利，
誰就能擁有權利；
而我們卻背叛了祖先，
將自由新祭壇之火，
窒息於祖先神聖的遺骨中。
難道我們非要把他們的信條，
變成我們的桎梏?
當我們急不可待欲殺仇敵之際，
難道非要從昔日先知的古墓中，
攫取他們的長明燈，
在今日的先知周圍，
燃起殉道者的柴火堆?

新時機託付以新責任，
光陰已移，
古風遺訓不再合宜。
要與真理齊步並行，
就須奮發向上，勇往直前
看哪!
真理的篝火召喚著我們！
我們自己須為朝聖者，
啟航我們的《五月花》號。
在兇險寒冬的海面上，
滿懷勇氣，穩操舵柄。
讓我們再也不要
用昔日血漬鏽斑的鑰匙，
試圖打開未來的大門。

The Present Crisis

When a deed is done for Freedom, through
  the broad earth's aching breast
Runs a thrill of joy prophetic, trembling on
  from east to west,
And the slave, where'er he cowers, feels the
  soul within him climb
To the awful verge of manhood, as the energy
  sublime
Of a century bursts full-blossomed on the
  thorny stem of Time.

Through the walls of hut and palace shoots the
       instantaneous throe,
When the travail of the Ages wrings earth's
       systems to and fro;
At the birth of each new Era. with a
       recognizing start,
Nation wildly looks at nation, standing with
       mute lips apart,
And glad Truth's yet mightier man-child leaps
       beneath the Future's heart.

So the Evil's triumph sendeth, with a terror and
       a chill.
Under continent to continent, the sense of
       coming ill,
And the slave, where'er he cowers, feels his
       sympathies with God
In hot tear-drops ebbing earthward, to be
       drunk up by the sod,
Till a corpse crawls round unburied, delving in
       the nobler clod.

For mankind are one in spirit, and an instinct
       bears along,
Round the earth's electric circle, the swift flash
       of right or wrong;
Whether conscious or unconscious, yet
       Humanity's vast frame
Through its ocean-sundered fibres feels the
       gush of joy or shame;--
In the gain or loss of one race all the rest have
       equal claim.

Once to every' man and nation comes the
       moment to decide,
In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the
       good or evil side;
Some great cause, God's new Messiah, offering
            each the bloom or blight
Parts the goats upon the left hand, and the
            sheep upon the right
And the choice goes by forever 'twixt that
            darkness and that light.

Hast thou chosen, O my people, on whose
       party thou shalt stand,
Ere the Doom from its worn sandals shakes the
       dust against our land?
Though the cause of Evil prosper, yet 't is
       Truth alone is strong,
And, albeit she wander outcast now, I see
       around her throng
Troops of beautiful, tall angels, to enshield her
       from all wrong.

Backward look across the ages and the beacon-
       moments see,
That, like peaks of some sunk continent, jut
       through Oblivion's sea;
Not an ear in court or market for the low
       foreboding cry
Of those Crises, God's stern winnowers, from
       whose feet earth's chaff must fly;
Never shows the choice momentous till the
       judgment hath passed by.

Careless seems the great Avenger; history's
       pages but record
One death-grapple in the darkness 'twixt old
       systems and the Word;
Truth forever on the scaffold, Wrong forever
       on the throne,--
Yet that scaffold sways the future, and, behind
       the dim unknown,
Standeth God within the shadow, keeping
       watch above his own.

We see dimly in the Present what is small and
       what is great,
Slow of faith how weak an arm may turn this
       iron helm of fate,
But the soul is still oracular; amid the market's
       din,
List the ominous stern whisper from the
       Delphic cave within,--
"They enslave their children's children who
       make compromise with sin."

Slavery, the earth-born Cyclops, fellest of the
       giant brood,
Sons of brutish Force and Darkness, who have
       drenched the earth with blood,
Famished in his self-made desert, blinded by
       our purer day,
Gropes in yet unblasted regions for his
       miserable prey;--
Shall we guide his gory fingers where our
       helpless children play?

Then to side with Truth is noble when we
       share her wretched crust,
Ere her cause bring fame and profit, and 't is
       prosperous to be just;
Then it is the brave man chooses, while the
       coward stands aside,
Doubting in his abject spirit, till his Lord is
       crucified,
And the multitude make virtue of the faith they
       had denied.

Count me o'er the earth's chosen heroes,--
       they were souls that stood alone,
While the men they agonized for hurled the
       contumelious stone,
Stood serene, and down the future saw the
       golden beam incline
To the side of perfect justice, mastered by their
       faith divine,
By one man's plain truth to manhood and to
       God's supreme design.

By the light of burning heretics Christ's
       bleeding feet I track,
Toiling up new Calvaries ever with the cross
       that turns not back,
And these mounts of anguish number how each
       generation learned
One new word of that grand Credo which in
       prophet-hearts hath burned
Since the first man stood God-conquered with
       his face to heaven upturned.

For Humanity sweeps onward: where to-day
       the martyr stands,
On the morrow, crouches Judas with the silver
       in his hands:
Far in front the cross stands ready and the
       crackling fagots burn,
While the hooting mob of yesterday in silent
       awe return
To glean up the scattered ashes into History's
       golden urn.

"Tis as easy to be heroes as to sit the idle slaves
Of a legendary virtue carved upon our father's
       graves,
Worshippers of light ancestral make the
       present light a crime;--
Was the Mayflower launched by cowards,
       steered by men behind their time?
Turn those tracks toward Past or Future, that
       make Plymouth Rock sublime?

They were men of present valor, stalwart old
       iconoclasts,
Unconvinced by axe or gibbet that all virtue
       was the Past's;
But we make their truth our falsehood,
       thinking that hath made us free,
Hoarding it in mouldy parchments, while our
       tender spirits flee
"The rude grasp of that great Impulse which
       drove them across the sea.

They have rights who dare maintain them; we
       are traitors to our sires,
Smothering in their holy ashes Freedom's new
       lit altar-fires;
Shall we make their creed our jailer? Shall we,
        in our haste to slay,
From the tombs of the old prophets steal the
        funeral lamps away
To light up the martyr-fagots round the
        prophets of to-day?

New occasions teach new duties; Time makes
       ancient good uncouth;
They must upward still, and onward, who
       would keep abreast of Truth;
Lo, before us gleam her camp-fires! we
       ourselves must Pilgrims be,
Launch our Mayflower, and steer boldly
       through the desperate winter sea,
Nor attempt the Future's portal with the Past's
       blood-rusted key.