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 | Poems and dramas of George Cabot Lodge |  |
X
Ours is the day of soul-despair,
The glimmering faith, the scanted sight;
But thine the dim, deserted night,
And, dark as moonlight thro' thy hair,
The stately, solitary air.
The glimmering faith, the scanted sight;
But thine the dim, deserted night,
And, dark as moonlight thro' thy hair,
The stately, solitary air.
Ours are the years of foolish strife,
Of small desires and smaller gain;
But thine, beyond the toil and pain,
Inert, unstirred by death or life,
The changeless Truth that proves us vain.
Of small desires and smaller gain;
But thine, beyond the toil and pain,
Inert, unstirred by death or life,
The changeless Truth that proves us vain.
181
Ours are the trivial joys, the tears,
The toil whereat our lives are priced;
But thine, with nothing sacrificed,
The harvest of unnumbered years,
The silence where the soul appears.
The toil whereat our lives are priced;
But thine, with nothing sacrificed,
The harvest of unnumbered years,
The silence where the soul appears.
Ours is a short, sad sentience, ours
Brief time and then forgetful sleep;
But round thy face thy memories keep
Strange vigil, and the lotos-flowers
Of Egypt scent thy living hours.
Brief time and then forgetful sleep;
But round thy face thy memories keep
Strange vigil, and the lotos-flowers
Of Egypt scent thy living hours.
Ours are the life and death that seem,
Ours is the race, but thine the goal,
And thine the calm, unhindered soul
That holds the dreamer and the dream
As notes in one harmonious theme.
Ours is the race, but thine the goal,
And thine the calm, unhindered soul
That holds the dreamer and the dream
As notes in one harmonious theme.
We damn and praise, we crown the few
With power and fame—a fading wreath;
In thine alembic Life and Death
Unite: beyond our partial view
Thy calm eyes know that all is true!
With power and fame—a fading wreath;
In thine alembic Life and Death
Unite: beyond our partial view
Thy calm eyes know that all is true!
Thy vision sphered to vaster skies,
Thy breast that keeps, serene and strong,
The pulse of earth's eternal song,
Thy hands that stir not and are wise,
Thy face of epic centuries,
Thy breast that keeps, serene and strong,
The pulse of earth's eternal song,
182
Thy face of epic centuries,
Thy soul that sees beyond the tomb,
Thy faith of wise and perfect love,
Thy heart that time is lyric of—
They know thro' life and death we come
Thee-ward like children straying home.
Thy faith of wise and perfect love,
Thy heart that time is lyric of—
They know thro' life and death we come
Thee-ward like children straying home.
| Poems and dramas of George Cabot Lodge | |