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The Reliquary

By Bernard and Lucy Barton. With A Prefatory Appeal for Poetry and Poets

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“WHAT IS OUR BEING'S AIM AND END?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 I. 
 II. 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


32

“WHAT IS OUR BEING'S AIM AND END?”

What is our being's aim and end?
Is it life's fleeting years to spend
In joys as fleeting, which but tend
To tempt our tarriance here?
Believe it not! this span of time
Was given, by discipline sublime,
To bid our hopes and wishes climb
Unto a happier sphere.
Seek'st thou to win a noble name?
Bethink thee, 'tis a virtuous aim,
Alone brings honourable fame!
Applauded and renown'd
For proudest deeds—if wanting this,
Virtue's true guerdon thou wilt miss,
Obtaining, for substantial bliss,
An idle, empty sound.

33

Liv'st thou to heap up treasur'd store,
Of Mammon's soul enthralling ore;
And heaping, still to covet more?
To scripture turn and see
His lot who gather'd hoards as vast;—
Thine eye upon his sentence cast;—
“Thou fool! this night shall be thy last!
Then whose shall these things be?”
Lov'st thou to bask in beauty's eye,
To dote upon her cheek's bright dye,
Her look, her gesture, smile, or sigh?
Turn to the silent tomb!
There learn, as e'en the lover must,
How brief and treach'rous beauty's trust,
“Ashes to ashes! dust to dust!”
Remains her mortal doom.
Art thou a votary of the Nine—
By glowing thought and tuneful line
Hoping to gain within their shrine
Honours that shall not die?
Powerless are harp, and lute, and lyre
Till more than mere Promethean fire
Thy spirit shall with hopes inspire
Of immortality!

34

A warrior art thou? in the din
Of battle, glory taught to win?
O hear the “still small voice” within,
Whose accents would declare
To ears unclos'd, and hearts un-steel'd,
“Turn inward to thy battle-field,
Thy sword the Spirit, faith thy shield,
And be a victor there.”
Are toil and poverty thy lot?
Respect thyself, and murmur not;
All earth could give will be forgot
In life's last solemn scene:
All in the grave as equals meet,
And God upon His judgment-seat
Alike impartially will greet
The mighty and the mean.
Then onward! to thy being's goal!
View not a part, but scan the whole!
Be duty's task, with fearless soul,
“Determined, dared, and done!”
Be patient, humble, thankful, calm,
So shalt thou win the deathless palm,
And join in that triumphant psalm
Which hails the victory won!