For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave, And the elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave, Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain, O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again, RABBI BEN EZRA GROW old along with me! The best is yet to be, I The last of life, for which the first was made. Our times are in His hand Who saith "A whole I plann'd, Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid, ' Not that, amassing flowers, II Youth sigh'd "Which rose make ours, Which lily leave and then as best recall !" Not that, admiring stars, It yearn'd "Nor Jove, nor Mars; Mine be some figured flame which blends, transcends them all!" Not for such hopes and fears Annulling youth's brief years, III Do I remonstrate: folly wide the mark! Rather I prize the doubt Low kinds exist without, Finish'd and finite clods, untroubled by a spark. Poor vaunt of life indeed, Were man but form'd to feed IV On joy, to solely seek and find and feast : Such feasting ended, then As sure an end to men; Irks care the crop-full bird? Frets doubt the maw-cramm'd beast? V Rejoice we are allied To That which doth provide And not partake, effect and not receive ! Nearer we hold of God Who gives, than of His tribes that take, I must believe. Then, welcome each rebuff VI That turns earth's smoothness rough, Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but go! Be our joys three-parts pain! Strive, and hold cheap the strain; Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe! Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail: What I aspired to be, And was not, comforts me : A brute I might have been, but would not sink i' the scale. VIII What is he but a brute Whose flesh has soul to suit, Whose spirit works lest arms and legs want play? To man, propose this test Thy body at its best, How far can that project thy soul on its lone way? IX Yet gifts should prove their use: I own the Past profuse Of power each side, perfection every turn: Eyes, ears took in their dole, Brain treasured up the whole; Should not the heart beat once" How good to live and learn"? X Not once beat "Praise be Thine! I see the whole design, I, who saw power, see now love perfect too: Perfect I call Thy plan: Thanks that I was a man! Maker, remake, complete, I trust what Thou shalt do!" For pleasant is this flesh; Our soul, in its rose-mesh XI Pull'd ever to the earth, still yearns for rest: Would we some prize might hold To match those manifold Let us not always say - gain most, as we did best! "Spite of this flesh to-day XII I strove, made head, gain'd ground upon the whole!" As the bird wings and sings, Let us cry" All good things Are ours, nor soul helps flesh more, now, than flesh helps soul! " Therefore I summon age To grant youth's heritage, XIII Life's struggle having so far reach'd its term: Thence shall I pass, approved A man, for aye removed From the develop'd brute; a God tho' in the germ. And I shall thereupon Take rest, ere I be gone XIV Once more on my adventure brave and new: Fearless and unperplex'd, When I wage battle next, What weapons to select, what armour to indue. Youth ended, I shall try My gain or loss thereby; XV Leave the fire ashes, what survives is gold: And I shall weigh the same, Give life its praise or blame : Young, all lay in dispute; I shall know, being old. XVI For note, when evening shuts, A certain moment cuts The deed off, calls the glory from the grey : Shoots "Add this to the rest, Take it and try its worth: here dies another day." So, still within this life, Tho' lifted o'er its strife, XVII Let me discern, compare, pronounce at last, “This rage was right i' the main, That acquiescence vain : The Future I may face now I have proved the Past." For more is not reserved XVIII To man, with soul just nerved To act to-morrow what he learns to-day : Here, work enough to watch The Master work, and catch Hints of the proper craft, tricks of the tool's true play. As it was better, youth XIX Should strive, thro' acts uncouth, Toward making, than repose on aught found made: From strife, should know, than tempt Further. Thou waitedst age: wait death nor be afraid! Enough now, if the Right And Good and Infinite XX Be named here, as thou callest thy hand thine own, Subject to no dispute From fools that crowded youth, nor let thee feel alone. Be there, for once and all, XXI Sever'd great minds from small, Announced to each his station in the Past! Was I, the world arraign'd, Were they, my soul disdain'd, Right? Let age speak the truth and give us peace at last! Now, who shall arbitrate? Ten men love what I hate, XXII Shun what I follow, slight what I receive; Ten, who in ears and eyes Match me: we all surmise, They this thing, and I that: whom shall my soul believe? Not on the vulgar mass XXIII Called "work," must sentence pass, Things done, that took the eye and had the price; O'er which, from level stand, The low world laid its hand, Found straightway to its mind, could value in a trice: XXIV But all, the world's coarse thumb And finger fail'd to plumb, So pass'd in making up the main account; All instincts immature, All purposes unsure, That weigh'd not as his work, yet swell'd the man's amount: XXV Thoughts hardly to be pack'd Into a narrow act, Fancies that broke thro' language and escaped: All I could never be, All, men ignored in me, This, I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped. XXVI Ay, note that Potter's wheel, That metaphor! and feel Why time spins fast, why passive lies our clay, — Thou, to whom fools propound, When the wine makes its round, "Since life fleets, all is change; the Past gone, seize to-day!" |