And, maybe, Life,—Life on a bounding tide,
And chance of glorious deeds;—
Of help swift-born to drowning mariners;
Of cheer to ships dismasted in the gale;
Of succours given unasked and joyfully;
Of mighty service to all needy souls.
So—Ho for the Pilot's orders,
Whatever course He makes!
For He sees beyond the sky-line,
And He never makes mistakes.
And, maybe, Golden Days,
Full freighted with delight!
—And wide free seas of unimagined bliss,
—And Treasure Isles, and Kingdoms to be won,
—And Undiscovered Countries, and New Kin.
For each man captains his own Soul,
And chooses his own Crew,
But the Pilot knows the Unknown Seas,
And He will bring us through.
PHILOSOPHER'S GARDEN
"See this my garden,
Large and fair!"
—Thus, to his friend,
The Philosopher.
"'Tis not too long,"
His friend replied,
With truth exact,—
"Nor yet too wide.
But well compact,
If somewhat cramped
On every side."
Quick the reply—
"But see how high!—
It reaches up
To God's blue sky!"
Not by their size
Measure we men
Or things.
Wisdom, with eyes
Washed in the fire,
Seeketh the things
That are higher—
Things that have wings,
Thoughts that aspire.