The Year of the World A Philosophical Poem on "Redemption from The Fall". By William B. Scott |
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| III. | PART THIRD.
THE JOURNEY RENEWED. |
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 | The Year of the World |  |
III. PART THIRD. THE JOURNEY RENEWED.
The Labors of Man advance, and become multiform. The going forth of multitudes into historic nations. The Doctrine of Self-elevation.
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I.
And sleeps he still, the Man melodious-tongued,
He, born of harmony in heaven's depths
And primal light—Lyremmos, sleeps he still
Like the young god upon the lotus leaf,
Floating in silence through a waveless calm?
Or like a child who hath no hurt nor grief,
Nestling between the breasts of its great mother?
No sleep was his like that, for evil airs
Brought dreams continuous over him, a flock
Endless, and shadowing with their unbound skirts
The sunlight and the moon. And he arose
With open eye that saw not, still constrained
To do as heretofore he had done: then,
Stood still in perilous wakefulness and fear,
Shuddering as if he stood upon the edge
Of an annihilation, lest that speech
Which issued from the Ganges might gain strength
Over him. But it could not be: “Ah, Ha!”
He cried anon, “is not the power whose voice
Uttered these words, himself the furthest off
From this unconscious heaven! or shall my strife
And labor have an end without a goal,
An end without acquirement, a mere sleep?
He, born of harmony in heaven's depths
And primal light—Lyremmos, sleeps he still
Like the young god upon the lotus leaf,
Floating in silence through a waveless calm?
Or like a child who hath no hurt nor grief,
Nestling between the breasts of its great mother?
No sleep was his like that, for evil airs
Brought dreams continuous over him, a flock
Endless, and shadowing with their unbound skirts
The sunlight and the moon. And he arose
With open eye that saw not, still constrained
To do as heretofore he had done: then,
Stood still in perilous wakefulness and fear,
Shuddering as if he stood upon the edge
Of an annihilation, lest that speech
Which issued from the Ganges might gain strength
Over him. But it could not be: “Ah, Ha!”
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Uttered these words, himself the furthest off
From this unconscious heaven! or shall my strife
And labor have an end without a goal,
An end without acquirement, a mere sleep?
“Be this my trust, that it is not in vain
From step to step I have emerged thus far,
That not in vain those questions rise within—
From whence? and whither? for what end am I?
That this soul-travail is not all in vain,
That all is well, and that the Will to rise
Shall be creative of the power, shall cause
The wing to shoot that I may reascend
Through sign and sphere unto my native home.
But where is home? I know not, but must know—
And I am wandering for it now, have wandered
Long as I can remember, still anon,
Raising a loud rejoicing as I meet
Some glimmering sign, or hear some demon-voice
Muttering in the night.”
From step to step I have emerged thus far,
That not in vain those questions rise within—
From whence? and whither? for what end am I?
That this soul-travail is not all in vain,
That all is well, and that the Will to rise
Shall be creative of the power, shall cause
The wing to shoot that I may reascend
Through sign and sphere unto my native home.
But where is home? I know not, but must know—
And I am wandering for it now, have wandered
Long as I can remember, still anon,
Raising a loud rejoicing as I meet
Some glimmering sign, or hear some demon-voice
Muttering in the night.”
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II.
So he passed on:
Westward or northward, which I may not say,
Or southward, for not one Lyremmos now
But many seem to travel: some in gloom,
Some fierce as maniacs; one, the stateliest form,
Passes to Egypt, yet how changed is he!
His step hath lost the buoyancy of hope,—
He seems to doubt the firmness of the earth;—
Uncertainty his quick eye hath subdued,—
Disgust and apathy have swollen his lips;—
Fierceness and tenderness extreme have blent
Around him,—and he goes forth yet to bear,
And search, and suffer, and enjoy, and weep,
And laugh, and slumber evermore, between
The gusts of his midsummer-day of life.
His hair alone remains unchanged and bright,
Like clouds through which the sun sheds red and gold.
Heavy upon his shoulders bent and browned
It falls, as by the Euphrates and Nile
Those whispering demons cluster round his path,
Feeding his dizzy ear with fabulous lore.
Westward or northward, which I may not say,
Or southward, for not one Lyremmos now
But many seem to travel: some in gloom,
Some fierce as maniacs; one, the stateliest form,
Passes to Egypt, yet how changed is he!
His step hath lost the buoyancy of hope,—
He seems to doubt the firmness of the earth;—
Uncertainty his quick eye hath subdued,—
Disgust and apathy have swollen his lips;—
Fierceness and tenderness extreme have blent
Around him,—and he goes forth yet to bear,
And search, and suffer, and enjoy, and weep,
And laugh, and slumber evermore, between
The gusts of his midsummer-day of life.
His hair alone remains unchanged and bright,
Like clouds through which the sun sheds red and gold.
Heavy upon his shoulders bent and browned
It falls, as by the Euphrates and Nile
Those whispering demons cluster round his path,
Feeding his dizzy ear with fabulous lore.
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1.
“We hold the wondrous records that embalmThis youngling world. Sprang it not forth, a birth
Of rending flames and sunless waves, that rolled
Without a shore? We sing of Gods—of God—
Of that time when the triple-spirit woke,
A time beyond time, spirit beyond Gods.
The eye of the great snake, is it not seen
By the enlightened? The primordial shell
Of the slow mover, bears it not the small-eyed,
Upon whose head this crowning world doth rest?”
2.
“We have with mystic chisel in the depthsOf hollow mountains symbolled truths on stone,
Revealed by Crishna and the darkest Hermes,
Ere Typhon made men slaves of sin. Behold!
Ten thousand steps go down to these great caves,
Steps unseen, save by those whose hand we hold.
Descend to wisdom and forgotten lore!
The iron gates, the brazen and the golden,
Open we now. The hieroglyphs reveal we
When the great oath and curse have been imposed.
Our hands have formed—shall we not understand
The horned and the hundred-handed, bright
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Processions infinite, and death-boats filled
By nether species, and winged runners armed
With lion's claws, those statues multiform,
Whose eyelids have not closed upon the dark,
Nor their ears slumbered in the silentness,
Throughout a thousand years of chance and change
In the sun's light, whom Spring hath not approached,
Save as a drop from the incumbent world
Of vegetation oozing. Are not all
Instinct with fire, with vital truth replete?
And wilt thou not explore?”
3.
“We are the guides!With rings, and cups, and potions that revive
The everlasting in the weak and dark,
Breaking the grave-sleep; to our ears, through force
Of terrible ordeals made to hear,—
Minister gods and spirits, by sweet fires,
Circles, and charms, evoked. Now firmly hold
This key red-heated, this green serpent bind
Around thy temples—hear ye not the sounds
Of voices everywhere, all beasts, all trees,
Streams, hills, declaring unto thee?”
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4.
“We hear!We will instruct! Look upward, and not down:
Passions disperse and visible things despise:
The multitudes of hands of laboring castes
Obedient, make a way into the clouds.
We shall ascend to stars, and on the path
Imperial of the zodiac be no more
Controlled, but the controllers strong become.
Ether's recesses entering by our fire,
With zonéd deities o'er the corporal heaven
Consorting, and beholding the great Sire.
For all live by one fire, and by one light
All see, although the father, having formed
The Earth, consigned it to the second mind,
Which men, mistaken, call the soul and First.”
5.
“Come with us—we are the elected ones,And we will lead thee: raise the altar, slay
The spotless beast, pour out the oils, and wave
In aromatic smoke the sacrifice.
Is there not magic, and oracular cries
Of demons—natural magic, to drive back
Pestilence, blight; theurgic to command
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The infinite secret. Come with us alone,
Is not the truth in nature, and the curse
Is it not in the bone;—for science can
Exorcise Death with arcane rites, and knowledge
Of constellated planets. Joyful are we!
For knowledge doth exempt us from all toils.
Yet are the laborers and the princes ours
As instruments of civilizing might:
Nailing strong boughs to stem the unknown seas;
Penetrating into the northern ice,
Conquering every force by land or sea,
Traversing every wilderness, exploring
Cavern, snowy peak, and forest endless,
Where live chimeras on the verge of chaos.
Do we not know, and is not knowledge life—
Shall we not fashion temples for new gods.
Gods of our own whose thrones Lyremmos reared
In his hard strife with mundance obstacles.
And adding to ourselves new luxuries,
Make rainbow-light with art upon the walls,
And odorous airs obey us, we shall live
In melody and song and mirth disrobed,
And an accumulated luxury,
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Laurel, nepenthé, and the clouds of incense,
Couched on the golden and gemmed height, shall power
Stretch out his sceptre, and the trembling slave
Stand between him and pain, care, toil, or age,
For are not kings the sons of gods—themselves
Beloved by Gods and by the priests revered?”
III.
So muttered the good demons, good yet wrong—
Good—for ambition is the thirst for better,
And in an untried waste all paths explores;
Wrong—for a part is not the whole—nor sense
The avenue of spirit and of truth,
Nor happiness a conquest. But anon
The earth was overwhelmed with towers and shrines,
Various as insects, numerous as the stars,
Terrible as the soul of man. Behold!
Is it not still the same, a spectacle
Of wonder to the gods who visit us
From time to time, and who as yet have been
Only additions to these phantasies.
Good yet wrong—for sense remains the same,
Nor can man e'er be free but by the spirit,—
The Reason working by the Will, a will
Involuntary as the acts of Nature.
Good—for ambition is the thirst for better,
And in an untried waste all paths explores;
Wrong—for a part is not the whole—nor sense
The avenue of spirit and of truth,
Nor happiness a conquest. But anon
The earth was overwhelmed with towers and shrines,
Various as insects, numerous as the stars,
Terrible as the soul of man. Behold!
Is it not still the same, a spectacle
Of wonder to the gods who visit us
From time to time, and who as yet have been
Only additions to these phantasies.
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Nor can man e'er be free but by the spirit,—
The Reason working by the Will, a will
Involuntary as the acts of Nature.
This Will with co-existent force, a creed
Lends to the mind,—men call it Faith: the soul
Meanwhile, within its sanctuary void,
Remaining silent.
Lends to the mind,—men call it Faith: the soul
Meanwhile, within its sanctuary void,
Remaining silent.
Reader! it may be
Thy law of life to live by knowledge only;
And what cannot be known precisely, is not
At all to thee. If so, there are few words
Beyond experience for thee, and few truths
Beyond the outward. All that may not bear
This test thou callest mystical and vain.
I too would fain have knowledge for my guide,
In every day a common life to lead,
Conforming to the mould of time. But not
Utterly thus confined, I would revere
All language of the spirit, and announce
A mighty sphere, in which the Known revolves
Narrowly circumscribed; the mystical
Being the throes and longings of the soul
To realize this sphere to its own Present.
And, Reader! is not this thy faith likewise?
Some church or chapel hast thou not, with prayers;
Which, though thou may'st suppose thy reasoning reaches,
Yet leads thee inward to the Infinite?
Thy law of life to live by knowledge only;
And what cannot be known precisely, is not
At all to thee. If so, there are few words
Beyond experience for thee, and few truths
Beyond the outward. All that may not bear
This test thou callest mystical and vain.
I too would fain have knowledge for my guide,
In every day a common life to lead,
Conforming to the mould of time. But not
Utterly thus confined, I would revere
All language of the spirit, and announce
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Narrowly circumscribed; the mystical
Being the throes and longings of the soul
To realize this sphere to its own Present.
And, Reader! is not this thy faith likewise?
Some church or chapel hast thou not, with prayers;
Which, though thou may'st suppose thy reasoning reaches,
Yet leads thee inward to the Infinite?
Moreover, if this form which thou dost hold
Is unto thee the only form of life—
I also am thy brother, not by bond
Of sympathy, but being fixed like thee.
For hitherto my nature hath advanced
Steadily to a peaceful faith. And so,
(Because each man his own soul must redeem—
And only for those ready to receive
I write, whose eyes could speak to mine) at once,
I pray thee lay the book upon the shelf.
Is unto thee the only form of life—
I also am thy brother, not by bond
Of sympathy, but being fixed like thee.
For hitherto my nature hath advanced
Steadily to a peaceful faith. And so,
(Because each man his own soul must redeem—
And only for those ready to receive
I write, whose eyes could speak to mine) at once,
I pray thee lay the book upon the shelf.
This mystical, oh! is it not the food
Of hope which makes all nature glad; the gift
Of stars which recompenses us for night.
And fable is the garb which to our eyes
Makes visible the spiritual subtilties;
And poetry is the harmonious voice
Of thought and feeling, moving so together
That words acquire the bridal sound of song.
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Of stars which recompenses us for night.
And fable is the garb which to our eyes
Makes visible the spiritual subtilties;
And poetry is the harmonious voice
Of thought and feeling, moving so together
That words acquire the bridal sound of song.
IV.
A noise ascends into the firmament
From the broad world; the noise of many feet
Passing continually to and fro;
Of many hands employed with helpful tools;
Of many tongues directing, or in prayer
To be directed. Also is there heard
Much joy, though mostly in the young; much mirth,
Though often fevered; and the bounteous year
Continually changing, scatters flowers,
Nurturing secret smiles; and yet withal
Is there not pain and many sighs and groans
From overladen and exhausted hearts?
For not to them the due sun rises fair,
Or providential Ceres plenty brings,
Or life is angel visited, or by gods
Pervaded with ecstatic influences.
Their brows have sunk above the lustreless
Pale eyes; untwisted is the genial curve
Of lip, where horrent the stark teeth appear.
Dreadful to tell, the beaten back is scarred,
The limbs are shrunken, and they must obey.
Over the desert north they swarm amain,
Fleeing before the elder and the tyrant,—
Adventuring with untired prows through storms,—
Courage still waving her inspiring arm
In the dark van—encamping in the waste
With claim of novel sov'reignties and wants.
From the broad world; the noise of many feet
Passing continually to and fro;
Of many hands employed with helpful tools;
Of many tongues directing, or in prayer
To be directed. Also is there heard
Much joy, though mostly in the young; much mirth,
Though often fevered; and the bounteous year
Continually changing, scatters flowers,
Nurturing secret smiles; and yet withal
Is there not pain and many sighs and groans
From overladen and exhausted hearts?
For not to them the due sun rises fair,
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Or life is angel visited, or by gods
Pervaded with ecstatic influences.
Their brows have sunk above the lustreless
Pale eyes; untwisted is the genial curve
Of lip, where horrent the stark teeth appear.
Dreadful to tell, the beaten back is scarred,
The limbs are shrunken, and they must obey.
Over the desert north they swarm amain,
Fleeing before the elder and the tyrant,—
Adventuring with untired prows through storms,—
Courage still waving her inspiring arm
In the dark van—encamping in the waste
With claim of novel sov'reignties and wants.
What madness seizes him, what strife he bears
Everywhere with him, and devouring thirst
To have, and have alone unshared. I lack!
I lack! continually groaning cries
The man, and in this want creates new cares.
The glittering bands advance, with knife and bow
Guarded; old men with gold upon their breasts,
And soddened eyes, and withered ears, give gold,—
Give and receive,—bartering slaves, the young,
The well-beloved of nature; men unbent,
Save by the curse in Eden uttered; women
With unawakened hearts. How many tears
Must fall e'er resignation can embalm
The arid spirit, and how many pains
Distort the limbs till sense forsakes. I see
Humility and love by their long hair
Dragged on the ground, and the sweet voice become
Jabbering frenzy: for that power is cruel
Which cannot make, but only can command.
Within his cedern walls and veils, secure
That the wind flares not his myrrhed tripod-light,
The powerful, with dark visage, on his couch
Leans, listening to the travail of the storm;
And with vile vows of offered hecatombs,
For force still ministers with fear, he prays!
And evermore the weary are released
By death regenerating; Death, the king
Unhonored, arbiter of man with nature.
In mountain and in valley doth the priest
Resign him to the soil; the waves also
Claim their just share; the north-wind rends the sail.
Fair sea-nymphs! ye have seen him in your caves
Abhorred fall.
Everywhere with him, and devouring thirst
To have, and have alone unshared. I lack!
I lack! continually groaning cries
The man, and in this want creates new cares.
The glittering bands advance, with knife and bow
Guarded; old men with gold upon their breasts,
And soddened eyes, and withered ears, give gold,—
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The well-beloved of nature; men unbent,
Save by the curse in Eden uttered; women
With unawakened hearts. How many tears
Must fall e'er resignation can embalm
The arid spirit, and how many pains
Distort the limbs till sense forsakes. I see
Humility and love by their long hair
Dragged on the ground, and the sweet voice become
Jabbering frenzy: for that power is cruel
Which cannot make, but only can command.
Within his cedern walls and veils, secure
That the wind flares not his myrrhed tripod-light,
The powerful, with dark visage, on his couch
Leans, listening to the travail of the storm;
And with vile vows of offered hecatombs,
For force still ministers with fear, he prays!
And evermore the weary are released
By death regenerating; Death, the king
Unhonored, arbiter of man with nature.
In mountain and in valley doth the priest
Resign him to the soil; the waves also
Claim their just share; the north-wind rends the sail.
Fair sea-nymphs! ye have seen him in your caves
Abhorred fall.
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What shouts, what clang of arms,
What gathering of multitudes all armed,—
Much is there which cannot be borne, and much,
Children of men, not thus to be destroyed!
Kings crowned advance on crownéd Kings, with gleam
Of purple housings and mailed giants. Now
They meet with stunning clang and sound of trump,
Trampling of horse, and fire. Knee strained to knee,
And eye to eye with basilisk destruction,
The thirsting iron spills the wine of life;
Eyes darken in the blood-bath,—over them
New foes contending meet, and forward, still
Hurtling towards this whirlwind, young and old,
Smitten with madness, rush. The trumpet's cry
Continues still throughout the shrieking streets—
Over the palaces and pyramids.
Woman and sphynx and priest are ghastly pale
Behind the brazen gates; but on the wall
The mailed are thronging—from without ascend
Exultingly a thousand climbers. Down!
The crushing stones descend, and arrowy shower!
The alien athletæ sink; yet more
Succeed with straining engines. Ha! what flames
Lash round them! gates expand—the sword completes
The work with flight and triumph and still death.
High prows are veering round unto the waves
Shrouded in smoke, while clapping of glad hands
Sounds on all paths, and round about each shrine
The multitude of dancers sing for joy.
What gathering of multitudes all armed,—
Much is there which cannot be borne, and much,
Children of men, not thus to be destroyed!
Kings crowned advance on crownéd Kings, with gleam
Of purple housings and mailed giants. Now
They meet with stunning clang and sound of trump,
Trampling of horse, and fire. Knee strained to knee,
And eye to eye with basilisk destruction,
The thirsting iron spills the wine of life;
Eyes darken in the blood-bath,—over them
New foes contending meet, and forward, still
Hurtling towards this whirlwind, young and old,
Smitten with madness, rush. The trumpet's cry
Continues still throughout the shrieking streets—
Over the palaces and pyramids.
Woman and sphynx and priest are ghastly pale
Behind the brazen gates; but on the wall
The mailed are thronging—from without ascend
Exultingly a thousand climbers. Down!
The crushing stones descend, and arrowy shower!
The alien athletæ sink; yet more
Succeed with straining engines. Ha! what flames
Lash round them! gates expand—the sword completes
The work with flight and triumph and still death.
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Shrouded in smoke, while clapping of glad hands
Sounds on all paths, and round about each shrine
The multitude of dancers sing for joy.
Lyremmos! have these whispering dreams all fled,
That wolfish yells now reach thine ears alone;
Hast thou resigned all hope, all memory lost
Of primal peace and thy great aspiration?
By Sinai wandering long, what caravan
Escaped from the Egyptian, fed by heaven,
And guided by a kingly patriarch, rests?
Unto those eyes the wonders of the God
Have been revealed; unto those hands consigned
The written law with thunder and through fire.
Is this the wanderer still, from land to land
Passing untired? With ephod, and the sound
Of bells about his skirts, within the veil
He enters, and the past in parable
Is unto him revealed,—the pure repose
Of Eden—the declension and the toil:
Thy toil, Lyremmos, and thy future joy—
Conqueror through Divinity descending.
Appears he yet again upon the deck
Of ships on Adrian and on Ægean waves,
Whose prores are painted with Egyptian eyes,—
Fair in eternal youth he doth appear,
Although with pride debased and wilful force,—
Upon his potent arm an ægis hangs,
Molten with conclave gods; upon his head
The Phrygian tire with stars; and on his brow,
Great as a lion's, calmness, and the joy
Supreme and sweet of arts and flowing numbers.
The dark green waves rejoice around his helm,
And Tritons herald him with shell and shout,
And gambollings grotesque with supple nymphs.
The shores to which he sails with love awake
And claim their lordly bridegroom, everywhere
Vocal with sweetest verse, oracular
With nature deified; and genial shrines
Men dedicate to man, with hands inspired,
Appear. Among the isles, by Carian strands,
Within Etrurian towns, fair gods are born
From human attributes,—Strength, with his club;
Beauty and earthly Love are there; and Force,
With bloody arms; and Art, with hammer clanging.
And Wisdom robed, and Manhood over heaven
Guiding the sun, and Womanhood the moon,
Partially understood, but very fair;
Ceres the bountiful, and reverend Pan,
Lover of silence and of music. Now
He stoops into the Eleusinian shades,
Beautiful fables of Arcadian years
About his heart. The arcane comedy
Fills him with gladness, like a pleasant dream.
From the bright flowers of Enna's meads she sinks,—
Proserpine sinks with Pluto; she looks back,
But she hath tasted, and she must abide
What change the mixéd potion shall perform;
Until emerging she beholds again
Her mother Ceres and autumnal plains.
“I've taken from the Cista's sacred verge
Things arcane: into the Calathus formed
For terrene fruits I've flung them. Hence again
I must retake them.” Thus he doth repeat,
And trembles as he feels that of his search
This might be hieroglyphic. The great sage
Of Samos speaks to him revivingly.
That wolfish yells now reach thine ears alone;
Hast thou resigned all hope, all memory lost
Of primal peace and thy great aspiration?
By Sinai wandering long, what caravan
Escaped from the Egyptian, fed by heaven,
And guided by a kingly patriarch, rests?
Unto those eyes the wonders of the God
Have been revealed; unto those hands consigned
The written law with thunder and through fire.
Is this the wanderer still, from land to land
Passing untired? With ephod, and the sound
Of bells about his skirts, within the veil
He enters, and the past in parable
Is unto him revealed,—the pure repose
Of Eden—the declension and the toil:
Thy toil, Lyremmos, and thy future joy—
Conqueror through Divinity descending.
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Of ships on Adrian and on Ægean waves,
Whose prores are painted with Egyptian eyes,—
Fair in eternal youth he doth appear,
Although with pride debased and wilful force,—
Upon his potent arm an ægis hangs,
Molten with conclave gods; upon his head
The Phrygian tire with stars; and on his brow,
Great as a lion's, calmness, and the joy
Supreme and sweet of arts and flowing numbers.
The dark green waves rejoice around his helm,
And Tritons herald him with shell and shout,
And gambollings grotesque with supple nymphs.
The shores to which he sails with love awake
And claim their lordly bridegroom, everywhere
Vocal with sweetest verse, oracular
With nature deified; and genial shrines
Men dedicate to man, with hands inspired,
Appear. Among the isles, by Carian strands,
Within Etrurian towns, fair gods are born
From human attributes,—Strength, with his club;
Beauty and earthly Love are there; and Force,
With bloody arms; and Art, with hammer clanging.
And Wisdom robed, and Manhood over heaven
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Partially understood, but very fair;
Ceres the bountiful, and reverend Pan,
Lover of silence and of music. Now
He stoops into the Eleusinian shades,
Beautiful fables of Arcadian years
About his heart. The arcane comedy
Fills him with gladness, like a pleasant dream.
From the bright flowers of Enna's meads she sinks,—
Proserpine sinks with Pluto; she looks back,
But she hath tasted, and she must abide
What change the mixéd potion shall perform;
Until emerging she beholds again
Her mother Ceres and autumnal plains.
“I've taken from the Cista's sacred verge
Things arcane: into the Calathus formed
For terrene fruits I've flung them. Hence again
I must retake them.” Thus he doth repeat,
And trembles as he feels that of his search
This might be hieroglyphic. The great sage
Of Samos speaks to him revivingly.
“Revere the gods immortal, first fo all;
Next thine own verity; the Oath revere:
Revere the heroes: to terrestrial demons
Render the natural worship: to thy sire
And to thy mother honor give likewise,
And love unto thy friend with constancy.
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Revere the heroes: to terrestrial demons
Render the natural worship: to thy sire
And to thy mother honor give likewise,
And love unto thy friend with constancy.
“These things are well: and next for fleshly ills.
Much, I beseech thee, much command, for life
Is nourished through those appetites which cry
Give, give! continually, and would fain
Be themselves rulers and not ministers.
Nor eating, nor reposing, nor in wrath,
Nor in desire, be more nor less than just;
For shame is raised by these 'twixt us and heaven,
And good becomes reversed, no more with light
Descending, but exhaling from beneath.
For is not man the temple and the god
At once? So reverence thyself, O man,
Above all things.
Much, I beseech thee, much command, for life
Is nourished through those appetites which cry
Give, give! continually, and would fain
Be themselves rulers and not ministers.
Nor eating, nor reposing, nor in wrath,
Nor in desire, be more nor less than just;
For shame is raised by these 'twixt us and heaven,
And good becomes reversed, no more with light
Descending, but exhaling from beneath.
For is not man the temple and the god
At once? So reverence thyself, O man,
Above all things.
“The body and the soul
Are two; the active mind between them reigns.
Observe the right in action and in word;
Beware of Custom, reason evermore
Still turning to this truth, that fortune's wares
Are mobile as the withering leaves of trees—
Value them not: patience! and persevere
Without them; fate is wise unto the good,
And all men die—yea, death is ever near.
Strange theorems, beware of them; give place;
Be not seduced; by understanding act;
By reasoning believe; deliberate:
In all things mediocrity is best.
When night descends, and to the couch comes sleep
Softly on tiptoe, let her not, until
With forehead on thy hand thou scrutinize
The past day, good or ill, but hour by hour,
If ill, determine, and if good rejoice.
These ways are true, they are divine; I swear
By Him who made the Soul, and planted there
The fixed idea of the universe.
Are two; the active mind between them reigns.
65
Beware of Custom, reason evermore
Still turning to this truth, that fortune's wares
Are mobile as the withering leaves of trees—
Value them not: patience! and persevere
Without them; fate is wise unto the good,
And all men die—yea, death is ever near.
Strange theorems, beware of them; give place;
Be not seduced; by understanding act;
By reasoning believe; deliberate:
In all things mediocrity is best.
When night descends, and to the couch comes sleep
Softly on tiptoe, let her not, until
With forehead on thy hand thou scrutinize
The past day, good or ill, but hour by hour,
If ill, determine, and if good rejoice.
These ways are true, they are divine; I swear
By Him who made the Soul, and planted there
The fixed idea of the universe.
“Of spirit: pray to God; by use of prayer
Thou wilt approach Divinity, and know
The constitution both of gods and men.
Men shut their eyes and go astray; the good
Is nearest, but they see it not, alas!
Erring, still erring. Zeus, father-power!
Deliver us, or show us our own souls.
Courage, my brethren! are we not divine?
All sacred nature's holiest mysteries
To us are given, and when life's coil is wound,
Transformed the wise shall verily be gods.”
Thou wilt approach Divinity, and know
The constitution both of gods and men.
66
Is nearest, but they see it not, alas!
Erring, still erring. Zeus, father-power!
Deliver us, or show us our own souls.
Courage, my brethren! are we not divine?
All sacred nature's holiest mysteries
To us are given, and when life's coil is wound,
Transformed the wise shall verily be gods.”
| The Year of the World | |