Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/229

 "Humane the age is," says the Mayor: And if humanely it be met Will bring you fame and fortune yet. But all your angles must be rounded, Your gnarls and bosses scraped and pounded! You must grow sleek as others do, All singularities eschew, If you would labour without let.

Away! away!

I quite agree. Men of your stamp must finally Be summon'd to a higher seat; But, in the greater as the less, Only the regimental dress Will make your happiness complete. The corporal, staff in hand, must knock The sense of Time into his flock; For, to our mind, the best of all Commanders is the corporal. Just as the corporal leads his men Into the church, battalion-wise, So must the priest lead his, again, By parishes to Paradise. It's all so easy!—Faith, you say, Broad-based upon authority; Which, being upon learning stay'd, May be implicitly obey'd: While rules and ritual leave no doubt How faith ought to be acted out. Wherefore, my brother,—pluck up cheer! Employ the time for meditation; Reflect upon your situation, And don't give way to futile fear!