1970: A Vision of the Coming Age

In Short

This narrative poem presents a vision of the year 1970, imagined as the arrival of a global, terrestrial millennium. The narrator travels from his home in New Jersey to Europe and beyond, witnessing a society where war, crime, slavery, and poverty have been eradicated by universal adherence to a divine, simple faith. The work serves as a hopeful, didactic blueprint for an ideal society, grounding its Utopian aspirations in the religious and social reform movements of the Victorian era. It endures as a fascinating window into past dreams of progress.

The Story

The journey begins on a sweltering June afternoon in 1870. The narrator, reclining in his garden, drifts into a trance while contemplating the constant, frenetic hum of the telegraph wires nearby. He suddenly finds himself in the year 1970. The world he encounters is fundamentally altered: the very air is cleaner, the climate is perpetually spring-like, and human nature itself seems to have undergone a divine purification.

He first explores his own vicinity, noting that the architecture has become permanent and beautiful, maintained by a "liquid cement" that defies the decay of time. He discovers a society where commerce is entirely honest, fixed-price, and devoid of currency panics or stock-market greed. There are no hotels, as every home is open to strangers, and no sick or poor, as disease has vanished. The narrator visits a local hall—formerly a site of "riot and murderous strife"—now a quiet, non-denominational temple of praise. Nearby, he observes the ruins of a theater, destroyed by "spontaneous combustion," where relics of the past are being cleared away to make room for a mission dedicated to spreading the Bible.

The narrator then travels extensively, using advanced, silent, rubber-tired trains and swift air-ships that glide on wings across the globe. He visits a massive repository of human history, a building dedicated to the "relics of sin." Here, the progress of humanity is measured by the discarded tools of its former misery: the weapons of war, the instruments of torture used by religious zealots, and the whips and chains of the slave trade. He is guided by an elderly man who confirms that these horrors are truly "past," and that the world now enjoys the peace of a "new birth."

His voyage takes him to London, where he walks through the Tower—now an open display of abandoned royal jewels—and continues on to Italy. In Rome, the Coliseum is repurposed for worship, and St. Peter’s Basilica has been stripped of its crucifixes and priestly hierarchy, replaced by a simple, star-crowned dome that symbolizes the direct, unmediated relationship between humanity and the Divine. Throughout these travels, the narrator observes that even the animal kingdom has changed; predators and prey live in harmony, protected by a humanity that has finally learned to love all living things.

As his journey concludes, the narrator reflects on the transition from the old, fallen world to this new, peaceful millennium. He learns that the transformation occurred through the sudden, glorious manifestation of the Lord, accompanied by the gradual but persistent growth of prayer and reform among the nations. Just as he reaches the height of his wonder, the sunset’s last gleam triggers a sudden return to his own reality. He awakens in his garden, realizing the entire experience was a prophetic dream, yet one that leaves his soul permanently stirred by the vision of a world "blest" by divine harmony.

How It Unfolds

The trance begins On a quiet June afternoon in 1870, the narrator falls asleep while listening to the chatter of the telegraph wires. He wakes in the year 1970, where he immediately notices the radical cleanliness and permanence of the built environment.

The social miracle The narrator walks through local streets, discovering that the social ills of his time—poverty, crime, and professional deception—have vanished. He finds an honest, open society where the common good replaces the pursuit of individual profit.

The museum of history He explores a vast, somber building that catalogs the instruments of human cruelty. Looking at the weapons of war and the chains of slavery, he is assured by a guide that these objects belong to an era of "infamy" that has passed forever.

The flight to Europe Using a pneumatic-powered air-ship, the narrator leaves the New World to survey the old. He experiences the majesty of the Alps and the quiet, orderly streets of London, noting that even the most famous global landmarks have been transformed into monuments of peace.

The arrival in Rome He arrives at a purified Rome, where St. Peter’s serves as a simple house of worship rather than a site of hierarchy. The narrator learns that the transition to this era was a blend of spiritual awakening and the slow, diligent work of the human conscience.

The return to reality As the narrator prepares to depart from Italy, the vision ends. The transition back to 1870 is sudden, leaving the narrator to contemplate the stark contrast between his dream of a redeemed world and the reality of his own century.

The People

The narrator acts as a passive, awestruck observer, a "pilgrim" whose primary function is to contrast the moral failures of the nineteenth century with the realized peace of the future. He is a man of his time, deeply troubled by the "riot" and "blasphemy" of his era and deeply comforted by the prospect of a world where these things are obsolete.

The primary guide is an unnamed, "gray-haired old man" found in the Roman temple. He possesses an eye "beaming bright as in infancy’s days," symbolizing a humanity that has been restored to an Adamic innocence. He provides the necessary exposition, explaining the history of the world's transition and serving as the moral anchor for the narrator's confusion.

The "Director," a tall, thin figure who oversees the silent, efficient transport system, represents the new ideal of leadership—unassuming, orderly, and focused on the safety and comfort of others. Meanwhile, the figures from the past—the "Lawyer Grip" or the unnamed "merchant of rank"—are mentioned only as relics of a vanished, corrupt social order. They are the ghosts of a "time-worn" age, contrasted sharply against the "honest and true" citizens of 1970 who have replaced self-interest with "loving communion."

In Its Own Voice

The narrator expresses his deep shock at the contrast between the world he knew and the peace he witnesses in the future:

“How sad!” said a voice, “they could ever bestow Time and thought on such follies a century ago!

He reflects on the remnants of his own era, which he views as a time of profound, misplaced priorities.

The narrator finds evidence of total global transformation, even in the smallest details of nature:

The fox and the hare lived in the same den On intimate terms, unmolested by men,

This observation highlights the book's argument that the harmony of the "Coming Age" extends beyond human politics to the natural world itself.

What It's Really About

At its core, the book is a theological argument for the inevitable triumph of divine love over human depravity. It suggests that the social and technological advancements of the Victorian age—the telegraph, the steam engine, and the pneumatic tube—are merely precursors to a greater, spiritual "new birth." The author argues that true progress is not found in industrial production, but in the total alignment of human behavior with Christian ethics. It asks whether humanity can ever truly solve its problems through legislation or commerce alone, ultimately concluding that a fundamental, miraculous shift in the human heart is the only path to a world without "strife, hate and conflict." It is a vision of a "paradise" regained through the active, daily practice of universal kindness.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the utopian literature of the 19th century will find this a fascinating curiosity. It is written in a rhythmic, didactic verse that reflects the earnest, moralistic tone of its time. For those interested in the history of ideas, the book provides a clear look at how a 19th-century mind envisioned the "modern" 1970—fusing rapid, futuristic transit with a deeply traditional, religious morality.

It is important to note that the book carries the attitudes of its era; its vision of the future is remarkably Eurocentric and reflects the social hierarchies of the 1800s, even as it explicitly condemns the slavery and violence that characterized that period. The language is archaic and the pacing is deliberate, functioning more as a guided tour of a sermon than a modern plot-driven story. However, there is a genuine, infectious optimism in its pages. It is a slow, meditative read that forces the reader to pause and consider a world where "no collision was feared" and "the work of the just and the righteous is peace." It remains a sincere, if idealized, attempt to map a path from a world of "tears and sorrow" to one of "perpetual day."