 | Poems by James Rhoades |  |
69
TWO CHARACTERS.
See there! for this man, too, life's toil is over;
His words are all said out; his deeds are done;
For this man, too, there comes a rest, however
Unquiet passed his time beneath the sun.
His words are all said out; his deeds are done;
For this man, too, there comes a rest, however
Unquiet passed his time beneath the sun.
You said what seemed you best; your life's poor fountain
Just bubbled, whilst his soared or shuddered down;
You chid him as a tir'd boy chides a mountain;
You frowned on him, and thought God, too, must frown.
Just bubbled, whilst his soared or shuddered down;
You chid him as a tir'd boy chides a mountain;
You frowned on him, and thought God, too, must frown.
His worst thought was so great, your best so little,
Your best and worst not yours, his all his own;
You ran the world's safe way; he dared to thwart it;
You stood with thousands by you, he alone.
Your best and worst not yours, his all his own;
You ran the world's safe way; he dared to thwart it;
You stood with thousands by you, he alone.
70
Wherefore, when God shall judge the world, I take it,
He will not mete this man by rule and line,
Who felt no common thirst, nor feared to slake it
From that which flowed within him—the Divine:
He will not mete this man by rule and line,
Who felt no common thirst, nor feared to slake it
From that which flowed within him—the Divine:
Or think you God loves our tame levell'd acres
More than the proud head of some heaven-kiss'd hill?
Man's straight-dug ditch more than His own free river,
That wanders, He regarding, where it will?
More than the proud head of some heaven-kiss'd hill?
Man's straight-dug ditch more than His own free river,
That wanders, He regarding, where it will?
Enough—high words abate no jot or tittle
Of what, while man still lasts, shall still be true—
Heaven's great ones must be slander'd by Earth's little,
And God makes no ado.
Of what, while man still lasts, shall still be true—
Heaven's great ones must be slander'd by Earth's little,
And God makes no ado.
| Poems by James Rhoades | |