Hopes Of Futurity Poem by John Bowring

Why is the voice of wisdom hushed
At some stern despot's harsh command?
Why the inquiring spirit crushed
By prelate, or by princely hand?


Why is the uptending reason kept
In some foul prison, dreary, dark?
Why must we sleep as those who slept,
Stark-blinded, to the heavenly spark?


Are we not born for brighter days,
By nobler guides securely led?
May we not on the sunshine gaze,
And walk where flowers and fruits are spread?


While circling stars and central sun,
And moons and moons and planets roll,
And rivers in their currents run,
Say, what shall stop the advancing soul?