Finis Coronat Opus

  When long a people dwells upon A land so fair, ‘neath shining sun, And build they cities o’er the years, With towers great, forged out of steel; When long explored the land has been And towns and roads are built, and then Still further through the wild they go Regardless of the winter’s snow; What then, when all the rivers marked And mountains sketched upon a chart Have been, and sea to shining sea Holds no more ancient mystery? How must we steward soil dear, From tranquil lake to bustling pier, Rememb’ring those who came before, Preparing generations more!   

When days of ease descend upon A people strong and free, Who toil and work beneath the sun Their living well to keep, Then treasure they the bounty great That worked they so to store, And rest beneath the bough and brake They planted long before. But what of those who never strove, Or worked, or planted field, Nor learned the toils of men of old, What doing thus should yield? So days of ease a blessing are To those who know the cost; But ignorance leaves brutal scar When fruitful times are lost.

Frozen in the stream of Time As bustling hordes pass quickly by, There stands a stony edifice That harkens back to days of bliss And times of greatness, might of kings, Battles valiant, hope to bring. In such days past, men built with care, With minds set toward their future heirs, And made their cities long to last, Their temples great, their castles vast, Bedecked in splendor, murals bright, With colonnades bathed in sunlight. Well knew these men they might not see Their work complete ‘ere death there be; Yet pressed they on, and beauteous made The things to which they turned their face, For sake of those who later came To dwell among these deeds of fame. And still they stand, long cent’ries since, As ought they still to do years hence; For generations pledged their hands To beautify their native land, And now all those these wonders see May awestruck and inspired be.

A city ancient, carved in stone By peoples great of old, Lies just without the glimm’ring scene Of youth and beauty keen. This city long ago was filled  With life, and craftsmen skilled, Who loved fair things, and beauty sought, Cared not they more for aught. They cast up temples, columns grand A thousand years to stand; Great walls with scenes and tales were made To speak beyond their graves. And now, apart from teeming streets Where haste and sparkle pique A curious eye and passing thought, But soon will be forgot, There lies the past, within their reach, Where artist’s heart would beat And paint for loveliness alone, To last ’til world was gone.