FEAR.
Why fearest thou the darksome shades
That creep across the path of life?
Why tremble at the thought of strife
That oftentimes the soul invades?
Why sicken at the thought of ills?
The horrors that invade thy dreams,
The shadowland of forms, that seems
Dark terror to the soul it fills?
Why weary of the onward way,
Or dread the roughness of the road?
Why fear to struggle ’gainst the load,
The heavy burthen of life’s clay?
Hast thou not seen?—when gone the night
And stilled the dropping of the shower,
The weary drooping wayside flower
Drink in new life from sunbeams bright.
Hast thou not loved, at dawn, to feast,
The longing of thy mortal eyes
With vivid colours of the skies,
Burst free from floodgates of the East?
And hast thou never tried, in thought,
To gain a clearer, truer view?
A mystic glimpse, a vision new,
That shows the darkness as it ought?
A phantom of material fear
Unworthy of a moment’s dread;
For darkness would itself be dead,
Unless its mother light were near!
Then learn to grasp the purer light,
And learn to know the holier creed—
The brighter glow—the greater need,
The nearer day—the murkier night.
P. H. D.