A WORK OF RECLAMATION AND RESTITUTION IN TWELVE
BOOKS Vol. I and 2. It may have been a million years ago
The Light was kindled in the Old Dark Land With which
the illumined Scrolls are all aglow, That Egypt gave us
her mummied hand: This was the secret of that subtle
smile Inscrutable upon the Sphinx's face, Now told from
sea to sea, from isle to isle; The revelation of the Old
Dark Race; Theirs was the wisdom of the Bee and Bird,
Ant, Tortoise, Beaver, working human-wise; The ancient
darkness spake with Egypt's Word; Hers was the primal
message of the skies: The Heavens are telling nightly of
her glory, And for all time Earth echoes her great
story. I have written other books, but this I look upon
as the exceptional labour which has made my life worth
living. Comparatively speaking, 'A Book of the
Beginnings' (London, 1881) was written in the dark, 'The
Natural Genesis' (London, 1883) was written in the
twilight, whereas 'Ancient Egypt' has been written in
the light of day. The earlier books were met in England
with the truly orthodox conspiracy of silence.
Nevertheless, four thousand volumes have got into
circulation somewhere or other up and down the reading
world, where they are slowly working in their
unacknowledged way. Probably the present book will be
appraised at home in proportion as it comes back
piecemeal from abroad, from Germany, or France, or maybe
from the country of the Rising Sun. To all lovers of the
truth the writer now commends the verifiable truths that
wait for recognition in these pages. Truth is all-potent
with its silent power If only whispered, never heard
aloud, But working secretly, almost unseen, Save in some
excommunicated book; 'Tis as the lightning with its
errand done Before you hear the thunder. For myself, it
is enough to know that in despite of many hindrances
from straitened circumstances, chronic ailments, and the
deepening shadows of encroaching age, my book is
printed, and the subject-matter that I cared for most is
now entrusted safely to the keeping of John Gutenberg,
on this my nine-and-seventieth birthday. GERALD
MASSEY
|
|