Richard Butler Glaenzer

COLD bronze he has made articulate,

More scorching in its eloquence than the flames

That melted it to his will of fire;

Cold marble he has made compassionate,

Wisdom unfathomable which understands

All pain, all dread, all hunger, all desire;

Cold clay he has made animate,

Life that exclaims:

“You are but babbling shells! I, life entire!”

All these things he has done, this god,

Not as a god by sure austere commands;

But by thinking, seeing, feeling, believing;

By invincible patience and tireless hands;

With a back of scorn for the self-deceiving;

With faith’s disdain for The Day’s demands,—

A Titan self-made by his masterful mold,

Who has fused into copper the meaning of gold,

All the truth he could scan,

All his ardor innate;

Breathed his soul in each stone; poured his heart in each clod,—

A man,

Who stands shoulder to shoulder with Fate.

Out of bronze and marble and clay, formless, cold,

One man has given death the lie!