THE CHOOSING
“Here is life,” I said to my heart;
“Shall thou and I take part
In his battle and busy mart?
Shall we follow the voices that call
From temple and workshop and hall:
‘Lo, brother, we bid thee come?’”
“There is pleasure in palace and bower;
There is gold for our winning, and power;
And fame—for an idle hour
A bauble to tempt the best.
Shall we make us one with the rest,
And attempt, and achieve—or fail?”
But my heart, grown sudden wise,
Looked out from steadfast eyes
And said: “In myself it lies
To be more than a tool for gain—
Nay, Life, ye must bid again
Ere I answer to your call.”
“What say you of honor, O Life?
Has it room in the bitter strife
With which your service is rife?
Is there room for a soul to be
All the best it can feel and see;
To unfold its wings and arise?”
Then Life, with sphinx-like face,
And smile wherein no trace
Of answering had place;
Said: “Take my gift, or leave it—
But know they that receive it
Can make it what they will.”