Poems of Power Part 12

I wandered o'er the vast green plains of youth, And searched for Pleasure. On a distant height Fame's silhouette stood sharp against the skies.

Beyond vast crowds that thronged a broad highway I caught the glimmer of a golden goal, While from a blooming bower smiled siren Love.

Straight gazing in her eyes, I laughed at Love With all the haughty insolence of youth, As past her bower I strode to seek my goal.

"Now will I climb to glory's dizzy height,"

I said, "for there above the common way Doth pleasure dwell companioned by the skies."

But when I reached that summit near the skies, So far from man I seemed, so far from Love - "Not here," I cried, "doth Pleasure find her way."

Seen from the distant borderland of youth, Fame smiles upon us from her sun-kissed height, But frowns in shadows when we reach the goal.

Then were mine eyes fixed on that glittering goal, Dear to all sense--sunk souls beneath the skies.

Gold tempts the artist from the lofty height, Gold lures the maiden from the arms of Love, Gold buys the fresh, ingenuous heart of youth, "And gold," I said, "will show me Pleasure's way."

But ah! the soil and discord of that way, Where savage hordes rushed headlong to the goal, Dead to the best impulses of their youth, Blind to the azure beauty of the skies; Dulled to the voice of conscience and of love, They wandered far from Truth's eternal height.

Then Truth spoke to me from that n.o.ble height, Saying, "Thou didst pa.s.s Pleasure on the way, She with the yearning eyes so full of Love, Whom thou disdained to seek for glory's goal.

Two blending paths beneath G.o.d's arching skies Lead straight to Pleasure. Ah! blind heart of youth, Not up fame's height, not toward the base G.o.d's goal, Doth Pleasure make her way, but 'neath calm skies Where Duty walks with Love in endless youth."

THE OPTIMIST

The fields were bleak and sodden.

Not a wing Or note enlivened the depressing wood; A soiled and sullen, stubborn snowdrift stood Beside the roadway. Winds came muttering Of storms to be, and brought the chilly sting Of icebergs in their breath. Stalled cattle mooed Forth plaintive pleadings for the earth's green food.

No gleam, no hint of hope in anything.

The sky was blank and ashen, like the face Of some poor wretch who drains life's cup too fast Yet, swaying to and fro, as if to fling About chilled Nature its lithe arms of grace, Smiling with promise in the wintry blast, The optimistic Willow spoke of spring.

THE PESSIMIST

The pessimistic locust, last to leaf, Though all the world is glad, still talks of grief.

AN INSPIRATION

However the battle is ended, Though proudly the victor comes With fluttering flags and prancing nags And echoing roll of drums, Still truth proclaims this motto In letters of living light, - No question is ever settled Until it is settled right.

Though the heel of the strong oppressor May grind the weak in the dust; And the voices of fame with one acclaim May call him great and just, Let those who applaud take warning.

And keep this motto in sight, - No question is ever settled Until it is settled right.

Let those who have failed take courage; Though the enemy seems to have won, Though his ranks are strong, if he be in the wrong The battle is not yet done; For, sure as the morning follows The darkest hour of the night, No question is ever settled Until it is settled right.

O man bowed down with labour!

O woman young, yet old!

O heart oppressed in the toiler's breast And crushed by the power of gold Keep on with your weary battle Against triumphant might; No question is ever settled Until it is settled right.

LIFE'S HARMONIES

Let no man pray that he know not sorrow, Let no soul ask to be free from pain, For the gall of to-day is the sweet of to-morrow, And the moment's loss is the lifetime's gain.

Through want of a thing does its worth redouble, Through hunger's pangs does the feast content, And only the heart that has harboured trouble Can fully rejoice when joy is sent.

Let no man shrink from the bitter tonics Of grief, and yearning, and need, and strife, For the rarest chords in the soul's harmonics Are found in the minor strains of life.

PREPARATION

We must not force events, but rather make The heart soil ready for their coming, as The earth spreads carpets for the feet of Spring, Or, with the strengthening tonic of the frost, Prepares for winter. Should a July noon Burst suddenly upon a frozen world Small joy would follow, even though that world Were longing for the Summer. Should the sting Of sharp December pierce the heart of June, What death and devastation would ensue!

All things are planned. The most majestic sphere That whirls through s.p.a.ce is governed and controlled By supreme law, as is the blade of gra.s.s Which through the bursting bosom of the earth Creeps up to kiss the light. Poor, puny man Alone doth strive and battle with the Force Which rules all lives and worlds, and he alone Demands effect before producing cause.

How vain the hope! We cannot harvest joy Until we sow the seed, and G.o.d alone Knows when that seed has ripened. Oft we stand And watch the ground with anxious, brooding eyes, Complaining of the slow, unfruitful yield, Not knowing that the shadow of ourselves Keeps off the sunlight and delays result.

Sometimes our fierce impatience of desire Doth like a sultry May force tender shoots Of half-formed pleasures and unshaped events To ripen prematurely, and we reap But disappointment; or we rot the germs With briny tears ere they have time to grow.

While stars are born and mighty planets die And hissing comets scorch the brow of s.p.a.ce, The Universe keeps its eternal calm.

Through patient preparation, year on year, The earth endures the travail of the Spring And Winter's desolation. So our souls In grand submission to a higher law Should move serene through all the ills of life Believing them masked joys.

GETHSEMANE

In golden youth when seems the earth A Summer-land of singing mirth, When souls are glad and hearts are light, And not a shadow lurks in sight, We do not know it, but there lieu Somewhere veiled under evening skies A garden which we all must see - The garden of Gethsemane.

With joyous steps we go our ways, Love lends a halo to our days; Light sorrows sail like clouds afar, We laugh, and say how strong we are.

We hurry on; and hurrying, go Close to the borderland of woe That waits for you, and waits for me - Forever waits Gethsemane.

Down shadowy lanes, across strange streams, Bridged over by our broken dreams; Behind the misty caps of years, Beyond the great salt fount of tears, The garden lies. Strive as you may, You cannot miss it in your way; All paths that have been, or shall be, Pa.s.s somewhere through Gethsemane.

All those who journey, soon or late, Must pa.s.s within the garden's gate; Must kneel alone in darkness there, And battle with some fierce despair.

G.o.d pity those who cannot say, "Not mine but Thine"; who only pray "Let this cup pa.s.s," and cannot see The PURPOSE in Gethsemane.

G.o.d'S MEASURE