Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold By "F. Harald Williams"[i.e. F. W. O. Ward]. First Edition |
 |
 | I. |
| II. |
THE RULING PASSION. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
 | Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold |  |
THE RULING PASSION.
I have one passion and no more,
Not yearning for loud fame,
To strive as fools have striven before
Who left a moment's name
Inscribed on sand
With futile hand,
That only showed their shame
And nothing worthy to adore;
I cared not for the loves of lasses,
Ambition or red wine,
Or vulgar homage of the masses
That wallowed as the swine.
Not yearning for loud fame,
To strive as fools have striven before
Who left a moment's name
Inscribed on sand
With futile hand,
That only showed their shame
And nothing worthy to adore;
I cared not for the loves of lasses,
Ambition or red wine,
101
That wallowed as the swine.
When others on the muddy wave
Of grovelling rose to power,
I could not be a party slave,
I loathed the sordid dower
Of office won
By evil done
That burst in fatal flower—
I would not dig my country's grave;
I scorned the common steps of meanness,
And braved my fellows' frown
Who through dishonour and uncleanness
Won ruin and renown.
Of grovelling rose to power,
I could not be a party slave,
I loathed the sordid dower
Of office won
By evil done
That burst in fatal flower—
I would not dig my country's grave;
I scorned the common steps of meanness,
And braved my fellows' frown
Who through dishonour and uncleanness
Won ruin and renown.
I had one passion and no more,
That flashes through my life—
To add a little to the store
Of human wealth and strife;
Although I gave
Unto the grave
Or sacrificial knife
Myself, to get one grain of ore;
I kissed the cross, I hugged the fetter
And brake the virgin soil,
That I might leave one heart-beat better
This world of grinding toil.
That flashes through my life—
To add a little to the store
Of human wealth and strife;
Although I gave
Unto the grave
Or sacrificial knife
Myself, to get one grain of ore;
I kissed the cross, I hugged the fetter
And brake the virgin soil,
That I might leave one heart-beat better
This world of grinding toil.
And none has ever worked in vain
Who nursed the generous plan,
To ease the burden and the pain
Of his poor brother man,
Or shed on night
One ray of light
Though in a cottage span,
When sad eyes kindled back again;
Not if a single line or sentence
Has waked the woman's part,
And struck the chord of mute repentance
In some lost sister's heart.
Who nursed the generous plan,
To ease the burden and the pain
Of his poor brother man,
Or shed on night
One ray of light
Though in a cottage span,
When sad eyes kindled back again;
Not if a single line or sentence
Has waked the woman's part,
And struck the chord of mute repentance
In some lost sister's heart.
102
I have one passion and no more,
It is my vital breath—
To find a medicine for some sore
Or throw a simple wreath,
Though but on one
Brute thing foredone,
Yet dignified by death
And the great suffering that it bore;
And if one note of mine made living
More beautiful and young
For any soul, that sought forgiving,
I have not idly sung.
It is my vital breath—
To find a medicine for some sore
Or throw a simple wreath,
Though but on one
Brute thing foredone,
Yet dignified by death
And the great suffering that it bore;
And if one note of mine made living
More beautiful and young
For any soul, that sought forgiving,
I have not idly sung.
God is my judge, not purblind men,
How I have handled long
The poet's lute, the writer's pen,
Who had no choice but song;
And if I erred
In careless word,
The tune was never wrong,
Though rudely chanted now and then:
My record may be blurred and blotted
By many a grievous fall,
But yet I walked my path allotted
Predestinate in all.
How I have handled long
The poet's lute, the writer's pen,
Who had no choice but song;
And if I erred
In careless word,
The tune was never wrong,
Though rudely chanted now and then:
My record may be blurred and blotted
By many a grievous fall,
But yet I walked my path allotted
Predestinate in all.
I had one passion and no more,
My purpose and my pride,
To break the shadow on that shore
Which is the other side;
If I might raise
By prayer or praise,
Those curtains that divide
The orbed truth from earth-bound lore;
I struggled on when flesh turned craven
Within my own weak breast,
To lead my fellows to the Haven
Where I may never rest.
My purpose and my pride,
To break the shadow on that shore
Which is the other side;
If I might raise
By prayer or praise,
Those curtains that divide
The orbed truth from earth-bound lore;
I struggled on when flesh turned craven
Within my own weak breast,
To lead my fellows to the Haven
Where I may never rest.
And well I know, by torrents crost,
By desert toil and fast,
No tiniest labour can be lost
And nothing said is past;
For effort's deeds
Are deathless seeds,
Even though they blossom last
By all the waves and weathers tost;
And who shall brand with taunt or stigma
These feet that darkly trod,
If I in singing life's enigma
Echoed one thought of God?
By desert toil and fast,
103
And nothing said is past;
For effort's deeds
Are deathless seeds,
Even though they blossom last
By all the waves and weathers tost;
And who shall brand with taunt or stigma
These feet that darkly trod,
If I in singing life's enigma
Echoed one thought of God?
| Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold | |