University of Virginia Library

‘Who truly strives?’ they asked. Then one replied:
‘The man that owns no other goal beside
The throne of God, and till he there arrives,
Allows himself no rest, he truly strives.’

Honour each thing for that it once may be,
In bud the rose, in egg the eagle see;
Bright butterfly behold in ugly worm,
Nor doubt that man enfolds an angel form.

My friends exclaimed, who saw me bowed with woe:
‘Be of good cheer; the world is ebb and flow
‘To the dead fish what helps it,’ I replied,
‘That back returns the free and flowing tide?’

A pebble, thrown into the mighty sea,
Sinks, and disturbs not its tranquillity:
No ocean, but a shallow pool, the man
Whom every little wrong disquiet can.

A monk that once did at a king's board feed,
Ate less than was his wont and was his need:
And the meal done, when he a grace should say,
Prayed more and longer than he used to pray.
O friend, if great things may in small be found,
Quite other road than heavenward thou art bound.

He is a friend, who treated as a foe,
Now even more friendly than before doth show;
Who to his brother still remains a shield,
Although a sword for him his brother wield;
Who of the very stones against him cast
Builds friendship's altar higher and more fast.

With needle's point more easily you will
Uproot and quite unfasten a huge hill,
Than from the bosom you will dig up pride;
And the ant's footfall sooner is descried,
On black earth moving, in the blackest night,
Than are pride's subtle movements brought to light.

When men exalt thee with their flatteries,
Occasion take thine own self to despise;
And as a help to this, the meanest thing
Which thou hast ever done to memory bring.
Think, too, that now thou dost in peril fall
Of doing a yet meaner thing than all,
If, being what thou art in thine own sight,
Thou dost this praise appropriate as thy right.

The business of the world is child's play mere;
Too many, ah! the children playing here:
Their pleasure and their woe, their loss and gain,
Alike mean nothing, and alike are vain—
As children's, who, to pass the time away,
Build up their booths, and buy and sell in play;
But homeward hungering must at eve repair,
And standing leave their booths with all their ware:
So the world's children, when their night is come,
With empty satchels turn them sadly home.

Renounce the world, that thou its lord may'st be;
Become a servant, to be truly free.
O arrow, yield thee to thy Monarch's bow,
That whither He would send thee thou may'st go.
O camel, kneel, and freely take thy load;
And freely bear it, needing not the goad.
For thy Belovëd be a light-toned flute,
That to his slightest breath is never mute.
In the mind hide not, when God seeks for thee,
Rude ore, that stamped, his money thou may'st be.

Sage, who would'st maker of thine own god be,
When made, alas! what will he profit thee?
Most like art thou to children, that astride
On reeds or wooden horses proudly ride;
And as they trail them on the ground, they cry,
‘This is the lightning, and its Lord am I!’
Yet, while they deem their horses them upbear,
Themselves the bearers of their horses are;
And when they grow aweary of their course,
They find no strength in these, no help, no force.
How otherwise they fare, how fresh, how strong,
Not of themselves, but borne of God along!
How jubilant to Him they lift their head,
Till the ninth heaven shakes underneath their tread!

True knowledge is the waking up of powers
To conscious life, which were already ours.
What now is mine in leaf and flower and fruit,
That I possessed before in bud and root.
The faded writing of the mind again
By chymic art comes forth distinct and plain.
Springs that were stopt, when that is cleared away
That choked them, bubble in the open day.

The stars appear at eve; which yet have been
All day in heaven, although till now unseen.
The dawn lights up the landscape; the great sun
Shows, but not makes, the world he looks upon.
I found a rich pearl flung upon my coast,
Which yet no other but myself had lost.
I entered a large hall; no foreign dome,
But even my own long-left forgotten home;
And in what seemed at first a stranger face
A former friend I daily learn to trace.

Who that might watch the moon in heaven, would look
At her weak image in the water-brook?
Who were content, that might in presence stand
Of one beloved, with letters from his hand?
When thou hast learned the name, hast thou the thing?
What life to thee will definitions bring?
Will the four letters, R, O, S, and E,
The rose's hues and fragrance bring to thee?
Feed not on husks, but these strip off, and feed
On the rich kernel, which is food indeed.
Say, who of choice would wash in arid sand,
While limpid streams were bubbling close at hand?
Bare Science is dry sand;—thy spirit's wings
Bathe thou in Love's delicious water-springs.
Be thou the bee, which ever to its cell
Not wax alone, but honey brings as well:
Good is the wax for light, but better still
What will thine hive with storëd sweetness fill.

His splendid pilgrimage to Mecca done,
Within the temple great Almansur's son
Showered with a bounty prodigal and proud
Enormous gifts among the struggling crowd;
And every day those gifts he multiplied,
Vexed every day and humbled in his pride,
That one who seemed the poorest pilgrim there,
Remained aloof with calm abstracted air
Indifferent, and contended not nor prest,
To share his lavish largess with the rest.
Until at last, when he had shed in vain
Gold, jewels, pearls, he could no more refrain,
But cried to him, ‘And dost thou nought desire,
And wilt thou nothing at my hands require?
Who answered, standing where before he stood
‘Great shame it were for me, if any good,
While thus a suppliant in God's house I stand
I asked or looked for, saving at his hand.’

Man, the caged bird that owned a higher nest,
Is here awhile detained, reluctant guest;
Plumage and beak he shatters in his rage,
And with his prison doth vain war engage;
For him the falcon watches, and his snare
The bloody fowler doth for him prepare.
Exíled from home, he here must sadly sing,
In spring lack autumn, and in autumn spring.
Far from his nest, he shivers on a wall,
Where blows on him of rude misfortune fall—
His head with weight of misery sore bowed down,
His pinion clogged with dust, his courage gone.
Then from his nest in heaven is heard a cry,
And straight he spreads his wings divine on high:
Lift him, O Lord, unto the lotus-tree,
No meaner pitch may with his birth agree;
Grant him a pinion of such lofty flight,
That he may on the lotus-tree alight:
In thy bright palaces his nest prepare;
O happy, happy bird that nesteth there!

Sate in his presence-chamber Solomon;
When thither of his princes entered one,
Haste in his step, and terror in his eye,
And cried, ‘O King, defend me, or I die;
Even now I saw with visage dark and fell
Gaze on me the Death-angel Azraël.’
To him the King: ‘What help may I afford?’
‘Oh bid the storm-wind, gracious mighty lord,
That it to farthest India waft me straight;
And there my life shall reach a longer date.’
To farthest Ind at Solomon's command
The storm-wind swept him over sea and land.
But when the Spirits met another day,
To the Death-angel spake the Monarch: ‘Say,
Why did thy terrors that poor man affright,
Till he for anguish well nigh died outright,
That poor man, whom I sheltered with my might?’
Then he: ‘I meant not dreadful to appear,
But only wondered to behold him here;
For God had bid me on that very day
From farthest Ind to fetch his soul away.
I thought, Were thousand pinions given to thee,
To-day in India thou shouldst never be;
Nor guessed how this should be fulfilled, till there
Thy word did waft him, answering to his prayer.’

A hen, though such tame creatures mostly are,
Yet once received a water-bird in care;
Its mother-instinct drew the fledgling still
To the wide ocean-floods, to roam at will;
Its timid nurse, upon the other hand,
Sought evermore to lead it back to land.
O man! thy mother, Heaven, thy nurse is Earth,
And thou of both wert nurtured from thy birth;
From thy true mother comes thine impulse free
To launch forth boldly upon being's sea;
While aye thy nurse fears for thee, and would fain
Thee to a narrow strip of dry restrain.
Up, and remember Adam's kingly worth,
How angels danced before him at his birth,
How unto him they rendered homage all,
And served him at the glorious festival,
The bridal of two worlds, that kissed and met
The morn when he in Paradise was set.
Up, man, for what if thou with beasts hast part,
Since in the body framed of dust thou art,
Yet know thyself upon the other side
Greater than angels, and to God allied.
But ah! I sound this high alarum in vain,
Sunk on thy bosom doth thy head remain:
In lists of love while noblest bosoms bleed,
That flies not vex thee, this is all thine heed.
Up, be a man at last; with Abraham go
From house and kindred forth, thy God to know
Fair shine the sun and moon and host of heaven,
To eye of sense no fairer sight is given:
Yet cry with him: ‘These rise to set again;
I worship Him, a light that will not wane.’
Into the wilderness with Moses hie,
And hear that mighty word, ‘The Lord am I.’
Then hast thou won the place that is thine own,
A sitter on the threshold of God's throne.