Man varies, ages change, and time unfolds
A different name writ on the selfsame scroll;
And one shall hate what his descendant holds
Immoveable, as the antithesis of the pole:
Then, wherefore snarl, wrangling o’er half-starved names,
That do but mock the thing which most believe?
Such jarring furthers not, but rather lames
The substance man would from the eternal weave:
Love, Beauty, Joy, echoes from inmost Nature,
Howe’er miscalled, must still remain the same;
Let man develope each distinctive feature,
And all shall worship then, what none dare blame:
Most born without the pale, yet linger there,
Nor mourn as lost, what ne’er employed their care.