 | The poet's journal |  |
164
MY MISSION.
Every spirit has its mission, say the transcendental crew:
“This is mine,” they cry; “Eureka! this the purpose I pursue;
For, behold, a god hath called me, and his service I shall do!
“This is mine,” they cry; “Eureka! this the purpose I pursue;
For, behold, a god hath called me, and his service I shall do!
“Brother, seek thy calling likewise, thou wert destined for the same;
Sloth is sin, and toil is worship, and the soul demands an aim:
Who neglects the ordination, he shall not escape the blame.”
Sloth is sin, and toil is worship, and the soul demands an aim:
Who neglects the ordination, he shall not escape the blame.”
O my ears are dinned and wearied with the clatter of the school:
Life to them is geometric, and they act by line and rule—
If there be no other wisdom, better far to be a fool!
Life to them is geometric, and they act by line and rule—
If there be no other wisdom, better far to be a fool!
165
Better far the honest nature, in its narrow path content,
Taking, with a child's acceptance, whatsoever may be sent,
Than the introverted vision, seeing Self pre-eminent.
Taking, with a child's acceptance, whatsoever may be sent,
Than the introverted vision, seeing Self pre-eminent.
For the spirit's proper freedom by itself may be destroyed,
Wasting, like the young Narcissus, o'er its image in the void:
Even virtue is not virtue, when too consciously enjoyed.
Wasting, like the young Narcissus, o'er its image in the void:
Even virtue is not virtue, when too consciously enjoyed.
I am sick of canting prophets, self-elected kings that reign
Over herds of silly subjects, of their new allegiance vain:
Preaching labor, preaching duty, preaching love with lips profane.
Over herds of silly subjects, of their new allegiance vain:
Preaching labor, preaching duty, preaching love with lips profane.
With the holiest things they tamper, and the noblest they degrade,—
Making Life an institution, making Destiny a trade;
But the honest vice is better than the saintship they parade.
Making Life an institution, making Destiny a trade;
But the honest vice is better than the saintship they parade.
Native goodness is unconscious, asks not to be recognized;
But its baser affectation is a thing to be despised.
Only when the man is loyal to himself shall he be prized.
But its baser affectation is a thing to be despised.
Only when the man is loyal to himself shall he be prized.
166
Take the current of your nature, make it stagnant if you will:
Dam it up to drudge forever, at the service of your mill:
Mine the rapture and the freedom of the torrent on the hill!
Dam it up to drudge forever, at the service of your mill:
Mine the rapture and the freedom of the torrent on the hill!
Straighten out your wavy borders: make a tow-path at the side:
Be the dull canal your channel, where the heavy barges glide,—
Lo, the muddy bed is tranquil, not a rapid breaks the tide!
Be the dull canal your channel, where the heavy barges glide,—
Lo, the muddy bed is tranquil, not a rapid breaks the tide!
I shall wander o'er the meadows where the fairest blossoms call:
Though the ledges seize and fling me headlong from the rocky wall,
I shall leave a rainbow hanging o'er the ruins of my fall!
Though the ledges seize and fling me headlong from the rocky wall,
I shall leave a rainbow hanging o'er the ruins of my fall!
I shall lead a glad existence, as I broaden down the vales,
Brimming past the regal cities, whitened with the seaward sails—
Feel the mighty pulse of ocean ere I mingle with its gales!
Brimming past the regal cities, whitened with the seaward sails—
Feel the mighty pulse of ocean ere I mingle with its gales!
Vex me not with weary questions: seek no moral to deduce:
With the Present I am busy, with the Future hold a truce:
If I live the life He gave me, God will turn it to His use.
With the Present I am busy, with the Future hold a truce:
If I live the life He gave me, God will turn it to His use.
| The poet's journal | |