 | Thought and word |  |
89
[Art thou Lórd of the Wórld? Was it all made fór thee]
I.
Art thou Lórd of the Wórld? Was it all made fór thee,Child of Time, Child of Clay?
Thinkest thou, skies will ever bend o'er thee,
Bland and friendly as those of to-day?
Every joy its savour keep,
Night o'erflow with happy sleep,
Pain and sorrow shun thy roof,
Sad Old Age keep well aloof,
Life go smoothly on its way,
Brain control, and hand obey,
To-morrow be like yesterday?
II.
Things only wait, they only wait,They lie in ambush for thy fate.
Days go, and nights go,
Years run away, and lo!
Now the end is coming fast
The proud foolish dream past;
See the brand, so brightly kindled,
To a fading ember dwindled,
All thy pleasures, all thy riches,
Vanish like a dance of witches!
III.
Is this indeed the revolt thou wert fearing,Child of the Infinite, Child of Hope?
Or is it the lower world disappearing
Whilst thou art lifted to higher scope?
Thou, as needs, art drawn away.
Think,—truly,—would'st thou stay?
Nothing has been given thee yet
So good, but better thou may'st get.
| Thought and word | |