THOU sea, whose tireless waves
Forever seek the shore,
Striving to clamber higher,
Yet failing evermore;
Why wilt thou still aspire
Though losing thy desire?
Thou sun, whose constant feet
Mount ever to thy noon,
Thou canst not there remain,
Night quenches thee so soon;
Why wilt thou still aspire
Though losing thy desire?
Rose, in my garden growing,
Unharmed by winter’s snows,
Another winter cometh
Ere all thy buds unclose;
Why wilt thou still aspire
Though losing thy desire?
Mortal, with feeble hands
Striving some work to do,
Fate, with her cruel shears,
Doth all thy steps pursue;
Why wilt thou still aspire
Though losing thy desire?
The Roses, Newburgh,
April 21, 1853.
THE SOUL’S QUESTION
Inscribed to Rev. A. Dwight Mayo
DEAR friend, in whom my soul abides,
Who rulest all its wayward tides,
Accept the feeble song I sing,
And read aright my stammering.
I
As on my bed at night I lay,
My soul, who all the weary day
Had fought with thoughts of death and life,
Began again the bitter strife.