Finis Coronat Opus

Upon the earth, o’er ages long, There things of grandeur stand That awed a hundred thousand throngs From far and distant lands: Fair temples hewn from marble stone Upon the city heights, Bright pillars shining purest gold And gleaming in the light; Grand murals painted over years Bedecking ancient halls And telling of past hopes and fears, Of kingdoms, soldiers, thralls; Yet greatest wonders all begin With smallest stroke of brush, With chisel placed, with breath drawn in, Within enchanted hush.

When through a veil of pain I gaze Upon the swiftly passing days Wherein the sunlit beauty shines, And brightens all it leaves behind; When nature glorious summons forth Fair breeze from south, chill wind from north, And calls to keenly feel within Their freezing blast, or kiss on skin; When seasons pass with wondrous sights, With colors blinding in the light  Of setting sun or broad midday, And call to cast all cares away; These lovely things I see as one Behind a curtain, gazing from A place apart, when fain would I In midst of all this beauty lie. But eyes I have, and senses keen, And love for tales of wonders seen, And so, until the pain shall fade, I watch and listen from its shade.

  The people yearn for tales of hope, For legends ancient told Of lives beyond a shadow’s yoke,   Of valiant deeds and bold. Tell eager ears the stories great  Of kings and knights so true, Who dragons met, and fought to slay ‘Neath daylit skies of blue. And what of lays both sad and fair? They, too, must oft be sung; For hearts must mourn ‘neath heavy air, And feel while they are young. Proclaim the tales of heralds past, Surviving cent’ries gone, That those who hear them now, at last, Can see from whence they come.

Once, a nation new was born ‘Neath clouds of war, and tyrant’s storm, And grew it swiftly; strong and brave Her people fought, her name to save. Then rose a city from the sea Where yet no city built could be, And made therein were beauteous halls, Great courts, and stonework, glimmering all. And through the years, there rose yet more Memorials to her fallen swords, And generations came from far  To see these somber works of art. But then, alas, the past was lost Small piece by piece, to darkened thought, And monuments to figures brave Were left to molder as a grave. Fair fountains blue were let run dry And pools reflecting clearest sky Were cracked and muddy left to be,  While men forgot their history. Let these memorials shine again! Reclaim this city from low men, Lest into dark of shame and strife This nation’s honor ends its life.