Ever reviled, accursed, ne'er understood,Thou art the grisly terror of our age.
Wreck of all order, cry the multitude,Art thou, and war and murder's endless rage.O, let them cry. To them that ne'er have strivenThe truth that lies behind a word to find,To them the word's right meaning was not given.They shall continue blind among the blind.But thou, O word, so clear, so strong, so pure,Thou sayest all which I for goal have taken.I give thee to the future! Thine secureWhen each at least unto himself shall waken.Comes it in sunshine? In the tempest's thrill?I cannot tell--but it the earth shall see!I am an Anarchist! Wherefore I willNot rule, and also ruled I will not be!
We are living now, not in the delicious intoxication induced by the early successes of science, but in a rather grisly morning-after, when it has become apparent that what triumphant science has done hitherto is to improve the means for achieving unimproved or actually deteriorated ends.
The only time I ever went hunting I remembered it as a grisly experience.
Last Update: February, 2020