PURPOSE.
Brother! awake from thy long lethargy;
Walk forth into the world, search out the task
That is allotted thee; tear off the mask
Of morbid thought that ever blindeth thee.
God hath appointed each good man to be
His warrior in the righteous fray; then ask
His benison, and, donning sword and casque,
March forth to meet the common enemy.
Each good deed done shall be a death-blow given
Unto a sin conceived; each true word said
Shall be a javelin that hath not sped
In vain—its force doth come direct from Heaven.
Waste not the time; man’s inmost spirit saith
“Life without purpose is a lingering death.”
SONNET.
Year after year I see the trees unfold
Their baby leaves to the maturing sun;
Then tender birth of blossoms, one by one,
From parent stems that still their nurture hold;
Later the tall green corn takes on its gold,
Crowned with the glory of a purpose done;
And last, the sands of beauty being run,
All things decline into the common mould.
Age after age whirls on the appointed round
Of mortal destiny; old thoughts take bloom;
And new minds battle in the time-worn strife,
Death’s winter nips before the task is crowned,
And, soon or late, within oblivion’s tomb
Men fall like leaves from God’s great tree of life.
A ROMAN GIRL’S PRAYER.
On thy grassy altar, dear,
Pour I out the two-year wine,
And the incense rises clear
From thy holy shrine.
Lend me Venus, both thine ears;
Let me whisper unto thee
All the hopes and all the fears
Raging now in me.
He whom I have loved so well—
For whose love my soul hath burned,
Yields to Chloe’s fatal spell
And my vows hath spurned.