Ye that steer the minds of men,
Pilots of the public will,
By the rudder of the pen
Guiding us to good or ill,-
Who shall tell how vast your power,
Power to curse, or power to bless,
Secret despots of the hour,
Monarchs of the mighty Press?

Kings uncrown'd, unseen, unknown!
Nameless chiefs in every land!
Of yourselves your power is grown,
And within yourselves shall stand-
Strongly,- till yourselves alone
Change with suicidal hand
That firm pyramid of stone
To a crumbling hill of sand!

Till ye change it : till good sense
Leaves the dull or venal page;
Till good purpose banish'd thence
Gives its place to party rage;
Till your wisdom, wit, and worth,
Drown'd in calumnies and strife,
Change the noblest power on earth
To the meanest plague in life!

If ye tuckle to the bad
By the good man's slander'd name;
If ye make the wicked glad
Through religion put to shame;
If, instead of truth well sown,
Recklessly ye broadcast lies,
And with rumours bubble-blown
Cheat awhile our ears and eyes,-

It is but yourselves you cheat,
Cheat of honour, love, and trust,-
And you cut away your feet,
Like a Dagon in the dust;
All your strength is weakness then,
Lying as a Samson shorn,
Till the 'public praise' of men
Comes to be their common scorn!