Iö Pæan Poem by Joseph Skipsey

TRIUMPHANT o'er trouble, triumphant o'er pain,
Triumphant o'er all and thro' all we shall hie,
With the cry 'Iö Pæan! and Echo, the strain,
From her cave 'Iö Pæan!' enraptured shall cry.

The storm may set in and the summer may go,
But, the while winter winds in the rafters yet roar,
Will a gleam in the cloud and a bloom in the snow,
Give a pledge of a glory-girt future in store.

In Pandora's Box, Hope was left, and, in fact,
As long as the world on its axis shall move,
The Parcæ from mortals will never exact
What a ban, not a boon, in the sequel will prove.

Not only our manfold evils externe,
But the ashes-fill'd apples by error pluck'd, they—
Even they emanate from a fountain superne,
And will prove to be true golden apples one day.

Thro' the regions of Erebus lay the rough road,
By which the brave passed to the Fields of the Blest,
Yet once having enter'd Jove's envied abode,
The trouble made sweeter the pleasure possesst.

Dragon-watched was the idol of Jason's desire,
Yet a triumph awaited the noble and wise;
And as sure as the faggot but heatens the fire,
As sure did the danger but brighten the prize.

Creation itself from a chaos was born―
So sang the Illumed of the centuries fled;
And Atë herself to an Eros would turn,
If aright the vast drift of existence were read.

Nay, neither the gloom that o'er-shadows our skies,
Nor the danger that lies on the path to our goal,
Nor the keenest of pangs need awaken our sighs;
From woe the soul wrings the delight of the soul!

Triumphant o'er trouble, triumphant o'er pain,
Triumphant o'er all and thro' all we shall hie
With the cry 'Iö Pæan!' and Echo, the strain,
From her cave 'Iö Pæan!' enraptured shall cry.