BY CHARLES MACKAY.

The man is thought a knave or fool,

Or bigot, plotting crime, Who for advancement of his kind

Is wiser than his time. For him the hemlock shall distill;

For him the axe be bared; For him the gibbet shall be built;

For him the stake prepared; Him shall the scorn and wrath of men

Pursue with deadly aim; And malice, envy, spite, and lies,

Shall desecrate his name. But truth shall conquer at the last:

For round and round we run, And ever the right comes uppermost,

And ever is justice done.

Pace through thy cell, old Socrates,

Cheerily to and fro; Trust to the impulse of thy soul,

And let the poison flow. They may shatter to earth the lamp of clay

That holds the light divine, But they cannot quench the fire of thought

By any such deadly wine; They cannot blot thy spoken words

From the memory of man, By all the poison ever was bruised

Since Time his course began. To-day abhorred, to-morrow adored.

So round and round we run, And ever the truth comes uppermost,

And ever is justice done.

Plot in thy cave, gray anchorite,

Be wiser than thy peers; Augment the range of human power,

And trust to coming years. They may call thee wizard and monk accursed,

And load thee with dispraise;

Thou wert born five hundred years too soon

For the comfort of thy days. But not too soon for human kind -

Time hath reward in store; And the demons of our stories become

The saints that we adore. The blind can see, the slave is lord;

So round and round we run, And ever the wrong is proved to be wrong,

And ever justice is done.

Keep, Galileo, to thy thought,

And nerve thy soul to bear; They may gloat o'er the senseless words they wring

From the pangs of thy despair; They may veil their eyes, but they cannot hide

The sun's meridian glow; The heel of a priest may tread thee down,

And a tyrant work thee woe; But never a truth has been destroyed :

They may curse and call it crime; Pervert and betray, or slander and slay

Its teachers for a time. But the sunshine aye will light the sky,

As round and round we run, And truth shall ever come uppermost,

And justice shall be done.

And live there now such men as these -

With thoughts like the great of old? Many have died in their misery,

And left their thought untold; And many live, and are ranked as mad,

And are placed in the cold world's ban, For sending their bright, far-seeing souls

Three centuries in the van; They toil in penury and grief,

Unknown, if not maligned; Forlorn, forlorn, bearing the scorn

Of the meanest of mankind. But yet the world goes round and round,

And the genial seasons run, And ever the truth comes uppermost,

And ever is justice done.