Past and Present
"As you sit in your quiet home, surrounded by
peace, comfort and civilization... Do you,
listener, remember those memories... Grand and
tearful, which still, after hundreds of years,
Remain now radiant with the brightness of
sunlight, And now darkening, like indelible
bloodstains... The variegated pages of history.
Can your thoughts, torpid with repose, Transport
themselves back to the horrors and joys of the
past... Not straying indifferently from one thing
to another which excites your curiosity, But
taking a warm and vital interest, as if you
yourself stood in the midst of those struggles,
Now long since fought out... bled in them,
conquered or fell in them, And felt your heart
beat with hope or apprehension according as
fortune smiled or betrayed...
Standing on the heights of history, looking far around the wild
arena of human destiny, Can you transfer yourself
into the well of the past?
A life physically
buried and decayed, but spiritually inmost, Which
constitutes the essence and substance of
history... Did you ever see history portrayed as
an old man with a wise brow and pulseless heart,
Waging all things in the balance of reason? Is not
rather the genius of history like an eternal,
imploring maiden, full of fire, With a burning
heart and flaming soul, humanly warm and humanly
beautiful?
Therefore, if you have the capacity to
suffer or rejoice with the generations that have
been... To hate with them... to love with them...
to be transported to admire, to despise, To curse
as they have done - in a word: To live among them
with your whole heart and not alone with your
cold, reflecting judgement... ... then follow me.
I will lead you down into the well. My hand is
weak and my sketch humble, but your heart will
guide you better than I. Upon that I rely... and
begin."
peace, comfort and civilization... Do you,
listener, remember those memories... Grand and
tearful, which still, after hundreds of years,
Remain now radiant with the brightness of
sunlight, And now darkening, like indelible
bloodstains... The variegated pages of history.
Can your thoughts, torpid with repose, Transport
themselves back to the horrors and joys of the
past... Not straying indifferently from one thing
to another which excites your curiosity, But
taking a warm and vital interest, as if you
yourself stood in the midst of those struggles,
Now long since fought out... bled in them,
conquered or fell in them, And felt your heart
beat with hope or apprehension according as
fortune smiled or betrayed...
Standing on the heights of history, looking far around the wild
arena of human destiny, Can you transfer yourself
into the well of the past?
A life physically
buried and decayed, but spiritually inmost, Which
constitutes the essence and substance of
history... Did you ever see history portrayed as
an old man with a wise brow and pulseless heart,
Waging all things in the balance of reason? Is not
rather the genius of history like an eternal,
imploring maiden, full of fire, With a burning
heart and flaming soul, humanly warm and humanly
beautiful?
Therefore, if you have the capacity to
suffer or rejoice with the generations that have
been... To hate with them... to love with them...
to be transported to admire, to despise, To curse
as they have done - in a word: To live among them
with your whole heart and not alone with your
cold, reflecting judgement... ... then follow me.
I will lead you down into the well. My hand is
weak and my sketch humble, but your heart will
guide you better than I. Upon that I rely... and
begin."