Cosmos — A Reader’s Guide

Produced by Al Haines.

The Philosopher Press Wausau Wisconsin

COPYRIGHTED 1903 BY ERNEST McGAFFEY

DEDICATED TO CARTER H. HARRISON OF CHICAGO

Go search the æons an you will Where withered leaves of Doubt are whirled, And who hath solved this riddle, Life, Or Death—that moves with sails unfurled, Beyond the straining eyes of man Marooned upon an unknown world.

Nor tongue hath told, nor vision caught That paradox, Primeval Cause; Each age has had some parable Each age succeeding marked the flaws; While shifted, with the calendar, What men have termed generic laws.

Creed after creed behold them now Like Etna on Vesuvius piled; Till, scaled to earth by drifting sands They lie in later days reviled, And pushed aside by Time’s rough hand As toys are, by a peevish child.

For Priest-made doctrine reads grotesque. And earthly worship is but dross; Whether it be your Brahm of Ind Or squat and hideous Chinese Joss; Or Jove, aloft on cloud-capped throne Or the pale Christ upon his cross.

Why question still the blindfold graves Or pluck the veil of Isis dread? Over Death’s icy mystery A pall immutable is spread; And never tear-wrung agony Shall move the lips we loved—once dead.

Why grope in labyrinthian maze? Why palter thus with doubt and fear? The Past is but the mollusc print The Future looms, a barrier sheer; The Present centers in To-day The hope for men is Now, and Here.

Believe no scientific cant That man descended from the ape; Gorilla-like once beat his breast And grew at last to human shape, To watch the flocks, and till the fields, Harry the seas and bruise the grape.

For though enrobed in savage skins And though his forehead backward ran, The brute was not all-dominant Some spark revealed a Primal plan; His brain was coupled with his will The hairy mammal still was man.

And ever as the cycles waned He came and went, he rose and fell, At times transformed, as butterflies That rise from chrysalis in the cell; And oft through hate and ignorance Sunk downward deep as fabled Hell.

But through it all, and with it all How-e’er the upward trending veers, He fought his fight against great odds He peopled ice-bound hemispheres, Endured the sweltering Torrid Zones And stamped his impress on the years.

What romance hast thy childhood known Of God-made world in seven days? Of woven sands and swaying grass And bird and beast in forest ways, Of panoramas vast unrolled Before a stern Creator’s gaze?

Of rivers ribboning the vales; Of plains that stretched in smoothness down, And unborn seasons yet to be Spring’s violet banks, and Autumn’s brown; Bright Summer, mistress of the sun, And grey-beard Winter’s boreal crown.

And when at length the scheme complete Unfolded to the Maker’s sight, How He, Almighty and divine Said in his power, "Let there be light!" Gave sun and moon, and sowed the stars Along the furrows of the night!

Lo! every nation has its tale And every people, how they be; Whether where Southern zephyrs loose The blooms from off the tamarind tree, Or where the six-month seasons bide Around the cloistered Polar sea.

And Science with unyielding scales Weighs each and all of varied styles; And like a Goddess molds decrees Oblivious both to tears or smiles; Points out the error, reads the rule And God with Nature reconciles.

But who shall sift the false and true? What Oracle the rule enforce? Not man-made creed, nor man-learned law Is wise to fathom Nature’s course; No sea is deeper than its bed No stream is higher than its source.

Vain hope to solve the Infinite! Mere words to babble, when they say "Thus Science teaches,"—"thus our God"— Thus this or that—what of it, pray? The marvel overlapping all— Go ask the Sphynx of Yesterday.

We know the All, and nothing know; The great we ken as well as least; But sum it all when we have said That man is different from the beast; And spite of all Theology The Pagan’s equal to the Priest.

And globes will lapse, and suns expire; As stars have fallen, worlds can change; Forever shall the centuries roll And roving planets tireless range; And Life be masked in secrecy With Death, as ever, passing strange.

And trow not, Mortal, in thy pride That where yon beetling column stands Rests Permanence; ’twill disappear To sink in marsh or barren lands, Where bitterns boom, or sunlight stares Across the immemorial sands.

Of old when man to being came He fashioned Gods of brittle bone; Bowed down to wooden fetiches Or worshipped idols carved from stone; And, locked in Superstition’s grasp For sacrifice made lives atone.