The Home Book of Verse
Chapter 88 : It may be strange--yet who would change Time's course to slower speeding, When one

It may be strange--yet who would change Time's course to slower speeding, When one by one our friends have gone And left our bosoms bleeding?

Heaven gives our years of fading strength Indemnifying fleetness; And those of youth, a seeming length, Proportioned to their sweetness.

Thomas Campbell [1777-1844]

"LONG TIME A CHILD"

Long time a child, and still a child, when years Had painted manhood on my check, was I,-- For yet I lived like one not born to die; A thriftless prodigal of smiles and tears, No hope I needed, and I knew no fears.

But sleep, though sweet, is only sleep; and waking, I waked to sleep no more; at once o'ertaking The vanguard of my age, with all arrears Of duty on my back. Nor child, nor man, Nor youth, nor sage, I find my head is gray, For I have lost the race I never ran: A rathe December blights my lagging May; And still I am a child, though I be old: Time is my debtor for my years untold.

Hartley Coleridge [1796-1849]

THE WORLD I AM Pa.s.sING THROUGH

Few, in the days of early youth, Trusted like me in love and truth.

I've learned sad lessons from the years; But slowly, and with many tears; For G.o.d made me to kindly view The world that I was pa.s.sing through.

How little did I once believe That friendly tones could e'er deceive!

That kindness, and forbearance long, Might meet ingrat.i.tude and wrong!

I could not help but kindly view The world that I was pa.s.sing through.

And though I've learned some souls are base, I would not, therefore, hate the race; I still would bless my fellow men, And trust them, though deceived again.

G.o.d help me still to kindly view The world that I am pa.s.sing through!

Through weary conflicts I have pa.s.sed, And struggled into rest at last; Such rest as when the rack has broke A joint, or nerve, at every stroke.

The wish survives to kindly view The world that I am pa.s.sing through.

From all that fate has brought to me I strive to learn humility, And trust in Him who rules above, Whose universal law is love.

Thus only can I kindly view The world that I am pa.s.sing through.

When I approach the setting sun, And feel my journey nearly done, May earth be veiled in genial light, And her last smile to me seem bright!

Help me till then to kindly view The world that I am pa.s.sing through!

And all who tempt a trusting heart From faith and hope to drift apart,-- May they themselves be spared the pain Of losing power to trust again!

G.o.d help us all to kindly view The world that we are pa.s.sing through!

Lydia Maria Child [1802-1880]

TERMINUS

It is time to be old, To take in sail:-- The G.o.d of bounds, Who sets to seas a sh.o.r.e, Came to me in his fatal rounds, And said: "No more!

No farther shoot Thy broad ambitious branches, and thy root.

Fancy departs: no more invent; Contract thy firmament To compa.s.s of a tent.

There's not enough for this and that, Make thy option which of two; Economize the failing river, Not the less revere the Giver, Leave the many and hold the few.

Timely wise accept the terms, Soften the fall with wary foot; A little while Still plan and smile, And,--fault of novel germs,-- Mature the unfallen fruit.

Curse, if thou wilt, thy sires, Bad husbands of their fires, Who, when they gave thee breath, Failed to bequeath The needful sinew stark as once, The Baresark marrow to thy bones, But left a legacy of ebbing veins, Inconstant heat and nerveless reins,-- Amid the Muses, left thee deaf and dumb, Amid the Gladiators, halt and numb."

As the bird trims her to the gale, I trim myself to the storm of time, I man the rudder, reef the sail, Obey the voice at eve obeyed at prime: "Lowly faithful, banish fear, Right onward drive unharmed; The port, well worth the cruise, is near, And every wave is charmed."

Ralph Waldo Emerson [1803-1882]

RABBI BEN EZRA

Grow old along with me!

The best is yet to be, The last of life, for which the first was made: Our times are in his hand Who saith "A whole I planned, Youth shows but half; trust G.o.d: see all, nor be afraid!"

Not that, ama.s.sing flowers, Youth sighed, "Which rose make ours, Which lily leave and then as best recall?"

Not that, admiring stars, It yearned, "Nor Jove, nor Mars; Mine be some figured flame which blends, transcends them all!"

Not for such hopes and fears Annulling youth's brief years, Do I remonstrate: folly wide the mark!

Rather I prize the doubt Low kinds exist without.

Finished and finite clods, untroubled by a spark.

Poor vaunt of life indeed, Were man but formed to feed On joy, to solely seek and find and feast: Such feasting ended, then As sure an end to men; Irks care the crop-full bird? Frets doubt the maw-crammed beast?

Rejoice we are allied To that which doth provide And not partake, effect and not receive!

A spark disturbs our clod; Nearer we hold of G.o.d Who gives, than of his tribes that take, I must believe.

Then, welcome each rebuff That turns earth's smoothness rough, Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but go!

Be our joys three-parts pain!

Strive, and hold cheap the strain; Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe!

For thence,--a paradox Which comforts while it mocks,-- Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail: What I aspired to be, And was not, comforts me: A brute I might have been, but would not sink i' the scale.

What is he but a brute Whose flesh has soul to suit, Whose spirit works lest arms and legs want play?

To man, propose this test-- Thy body at its best, How far can that project thy soul on its lone way?

Yet gifts should prove their use: I own the Past profuse Of power each side, perfection every turn: Eyes, ears took in their dole, Brain treasured up the whole: Should not the heart beat once "How good to live and learn"?

Not once beat "Praise be thine!

I see the whole design, I, who saw power, see now Love perfect too: Perfect I call thy plan: Thanks that I was a man!

Maker, remake, complete,--I trust what thou shalt do!"

For pleasant is this flesh; Our soul, in its rose-mesh Pulled ever to the earth, still yearns for rest: Would we some prize might hold To match those manifold Possessions of the brute,--gain most, as we did best!

Let us not always say, "Spite of this flesh to-day I strove, made head, gained ground upon the whole!"

As the bird wings and sings; Let us cry, "All good things Are ours, nor soul helps flesh more, now, than flesh helps soul!"