<h2><SPAN name="page80"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>THE GOAL</h2>
<p class="poetry">All your wonderful inventions,<br/>
All your houses vast and tall,<br/>
All your great gun-fronted vessels,<br/>
Every fort and every wall,<br/>
With the passing of the ages,<br/>
They shall pass and they shall fall.</p>
<p class="poetry">As you sit among the idols<br/>
That your avarice gave birth,<br/>
As you count the hoarded treasures<br/>
That you think of priceless worth,<br/>
Time is digging tombs to hide them<br/>
In the bosom of the earth.</p>
<p class="poetry">There shall come a great convulsion<br/>
Or a rushing tidal wave,<br/>
Or a sound of mighty thunders<br/>
From a subterranean cave,<br/>
And a boasting world’s possessions<br/>
Shall be buried in one grave.</p>
<p class="poetry"><SPAN name="page81"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">p.
81</span>From the Centuries of Silence<br/>
We are bringing back again<br/>
Buried vase and bust and column<br/>
And the gods they worshipped then,<br/>
In the strange unmentioned cities<br/>
Built by prehistoric men.</p>
<p class="poetry">Did they steal, and lie, and slaughter?<br/>
Did they steep their souls in shame?<br/>
Did they sell eternal virtues<br/>
Just to win a passing fame?<br/>
Did they give the gold of honour<br/>
For the tinsel of a name?</p>
<p class="poetry">We are hurrying all together<br/>
Toward the silence and the night;<br/>
There is nothing worth the seeking<br/>
But the sun-kissed moral height—<br/>
There is nothing worth the doing<br/>
But the doing of the <i>right</i>.</p>
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