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'Tis as easy to be heroes as to sit the idle slaves
Of a legendary virtue carved upon our fathers' graves.
Worshipers of light ancestral make the present light a crime;
Was the Mayflower launched by cowards, steered by men behind their
time?
Turn those tracks toward past or future that make Plymouth Rock
sublime?
They have rights who dare maintain them; we are traitors to our
sires,
Smothering in their holy ashes freedom's new-lit altar fires.
Shall we make their creed our jailer? Shall we, in our haste to
slay,
From the tombs of the old prophets steal the funeral lamps away
To light the martyr-fagots round the prophets of to-day?
New occasions teach new duties; time makes ancient good uncouth;
They must upward still and onward, who would keep abreast of truth;
Lo, before us gleam her camp-fires! We ourselves must Pilgrims be,
Launch our Mayflower, and steer boldly through the desperate winter
sea,
Nor attempt the future's portal with the past's blood-rusted key.


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