"The Future Holds Thee"

At the near edge of the '70s, Americans have a sense that they--and perhaps the rest of mankind--are approaching a future uniquely and utterly unknown, except for its dangers. Pollution succeeds nukes as the likeliest means of self-destruction. The Russians and Chinese may never attack, but what about the black and white radicals at home? And what if such rebellions should arouse a repression presided over by ideological jackboots? There are historical patterns of such moods, recurring cycles of hope and dread. Nearly a century ago, in the midst of the American industrial revolution, Walt Whitman wrote a kind of sermon to America on its future. Except for his rambunctious optimism--a quality that would now seem at least reckless--he might have been talking to the nation today:

The storm shall dash thy face,

the murk of war and worse

than war shall cover Thee all over, (Wert capable of war, its tug

and trials? be capable of

peace, its trials, For the tug and mortal strain

of nations comes at last in

prosperous peace, not war;) ... But thou shah face thy fortunes,

thy diseases and surmount them

all . . . The Present holds Thee not--for such vast growth as thine, For such unparallel'd flight as

thine, such brood as thine, The future only holds Thee

and can hold Thee.

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