It is not so. That which we most desire,
With understanding, we at last obtain,
In part or whole. I hold there is no rain,
No deluge, that can quench a heavenly fire.
Show me thy labour, I straightway will name
The nature of thy thoughts. Who bends the bow,
And lets the arrow from the strained string go,
Strikes somewhere near the object of his aim.
We build our ships from timbers of the brain;
With products of the soul we load the hold;
Where lies the blame if they bring back no gold,
Or if they spring a leak upon the main?
There is no Fate, no Providence, no Chance,
The will is all. So be it thou art pure,
And strong of purpose, thy success is sure;
But fools and sluggards prate of circumstance.
SIMPLE CREEDS
If this were our creed it were creed enough
To keep us thoughtful and make us brave;
On this sad journey o’er pathways rough
That lead us steadily on to the grave.
Speak no evil, and cause no ache,
Utter no jest that can pain awake;
Guard your actions and bridle your tongue,
Words are adders when hearts are stung.
If this were our aim, it were all, in sooth,
That any soul needs, to climb to heaven,
And we would not cumber the way of truth
With dreary dogmas, or rites priest given.
Help whoever, whenever you can,
Man for ever needs aid from man.
Let never a day die in the West,
That you have not comforted some sad heart.
Were this our belief we need not brood
O’er intricate isms and modes of faith—
For this embodies the highest goal
For the life we are living, or after death.