 | The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman |  |
ALL IN A LIFETIME
Thou shalt have sun and shower from heaven above,
Thou shalt have flower and thorn from earth below,
Thine shall be foe to hate and friend to love,
Pleasures that others gain, the ills they know,—
And all in a lifetime.
Thou shalt have flower and thorn from earth below,
Thine shall be foe to hate and friend to love,
Pleasures that others gain, the ills they know,—
And all in a lifetime.
Hast thou a golden day, a starlit night,
Mirth, and music, and love without alloy?
Leave no drop undrunken of thy delight:
Sorrow and shadow follow on thy joy.
'T is all in a lifetime.
Mirth, and music, and love without alloy?
Leave no drop undrunken of thy delight:
Sorrow and shadow follow on thy joy.
'T is all in a lifetime.
What if the battle end and thou hast lost?
Others have lost the battles thou hast won;
Haste thee, bind thy wounds, nor count the cost:
Over the field will rise to-morrow's sun.
'T is all in a lifetime.
Others have lost the battles thou hast won;
Haste thee, bind thy wounds, nor count the cost:
Over the field will rise to-morrow's sun.
'T is all in a lifetime.
Laugh at the braggart sneer, the open scorn,—
'Ware of the secret stab, the slanderous lie:
For seventy years of turmoil thou wast born,
Bitter and sweet are thine till these go by.
'T is all in a lifetime.
'Ware of the secret stab, the slanderous lie:
For seventy years of turmoil thou wast born,
Bitter and sweet are thine till these go by.
'T is all in a lifetime.
Reckon thy voyage well, and spread the sail,—
Wind and calm and current shall warp thy way;
Compass shall set thee false, and chart shall fail;
Ever the waves will use thee for their play.
'T is all in a lifetime.
Wind and calm and current shall warp thy way;
Compass shall set thee false, and chart shall fail;
Ever the waves will use thee for their play.
'T is all in a lifetime.
430
Thousands of years agone were chance and change,
Thousands of ages hence the same shall be;
Naught of thy joy and grief is new or strange:
Gather apace the good that falls to thee!
'T is all in a lifetime!
Thousands of ages hence the same shall be;
Naught of thy joy and grief is new or strange:
Gather apace the good that falls to thee!
'T is all in a lifetime!
| The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman | |