The American common-place book of poetry :: :: University of Virginia Library

Be warned! Thou canst not break or 'scape the power
In kindness given in thy first breathing hour:
Thou canst not slay its life: it must create;
And, good or ill, there ne'er will come a date
To its tremendous energies. The trust,
Thus given, guard, and to thyself be just.
Nor dream with life to shuffle off this coil;
It takes fresh life, starts fresh for further toil,
And on it goes, for ever, ever on,
Changing, all down its course, each thing to one
With its immortal nature. All must be,
Like thy dread self, one dread eternity.

Blinded by passion, man gives up his breath,
Uncalled by God. We look, and name it death.
Mad wretch! the soul hath no last sleep; the strife
To end itself, but wakes intenser life
In the self-torturing spirit. Fool, give o'er!
Hast thou once been, yet think'st to be no more?
What! life destroy itself? O, idlest dream,
Shaped in that emptiest thing—a doubter's scheme.
Think'st in a universal soul will merge
Thy soul, as rain-drops mingle with the surge?

Or, no less skeptic, sin will have an end,
And thy purged spirit with the holy blend
In joys as holy? Why a sinner now?
As falls the tree, so lies it. So shalt thou.
God's Book, thou doubter, holds the plain record.
Dar'st talk of hopes and doubts against that Word?
Dar'st palter with it in a quibbling sense?
That Book shall judge thee when thou passest hence.
Then, with thy spirit from the body freed,
Thou'lt know, thou'lt see, thou'lt feel what's life, indeed.

Bursting to life, thy dominant desire
Will upward flame, like a fierce forest fire;
Then, like a sea of fire, heave, roar, and dash—
Roll up its lowest depths in waves, and flash
A wild disaster round, like its own wo—
Each wave cry, “Wo for ever!” in its flow,
And then pass on—from far adown its path
Send back commingling sounds of wo and wrath—
Th' indomitable Will then know no sway:—
God calls—Man, hear Him; quit that fearful way!

Come, listen to His voice who died to save
Lost man, and raise him from his moral grave;
From darkness showed a path of light to heaven;
Cried, “Rise and walk; thy sins are all forgiven.”

Blest are the pure in heart. Would'st thou be blest?
He'll cleanse thy spotted soul. Would'st thou find rest?
Around thy toils and cares he'll breathe a calm,
And to thy wounded spirit lay a balm,
From fear draw love, and teach thee where to seek
Lost strength and grandeur, with the bowed and meek.

Come lowly; He will help thee. Lay aside
That subtle, first of evils—human pride.
Know God, and, so, thyself; and be afraid
To call aught poor or low that he has made.
Fear naught but sin; love all but sin; and learn
How that, in all things else, thou may'st discern
His forming, his creating power—how bind
Earth, self and brother to th' Eternal Mind.

Linked with th' Immortal, immortality
Begins e'en here. For what is time to thee,

To whose cleared sight the night is turned to day,
And that but changing life, miscalled decay?

Is it not glorious, then, from thy own heart
To pour a stream of life?—to make a part
With thy eternal spirit things that rot,—
That, looked on for a moment, are forgot,
But to thy opening vision pass to take
New forms of life, and in new beauties wake?

To thee the falling leaf but fades to bear
Its hues and odors to some fresher air;
Some passing sound floats by to yonder sphere,
That softly answers to thy listening ear.
In one eternal round they go and come;
And where they travel, there hast thou a home
For thy far-reaching thoughts.—O, Power Divine,
Has this poor worm a spirit so like thine?
Unwrap its folds, and clear its wings to go!
Would I could quit earth, sin, and care, and wo!
Nay, rather let me use the world aright:
Thus make me ready for my upward flight.