Custer | Page 7

that force unseen,?The offspring of a deathless Soul,?Can hew the way to any goal,?Though walls of granite intervene.
Be not impatient in delay,?But wait as one who understands;?When spirit rises and commands,?The gods are ready to obey.
The river seeking for the sea?Confronts the dam and precipice,?Yet knows it cannot fail or miss;?_You will be what you will to be_!
=To An Astrologer=
Nay, seer, I do not doubt thy mystic lore,?Nor question that the tenor of my life,?Past, present and the future, is revealed?There in my horoscope. I do believe?That yon dead moon compels the haughty seas?To ebb and flow, and that my natal star?Stands like a stern-browed sentinel in space?And challenges events; nor lets one grief,?Or joy, or failure, or success, pass on?To mar or bless my earthly lot, until?It proves its Karmic right to come to me.
All this I grant, but more than this I _know_!?Before the solar systems were conceived,?When nothing was but the unnamable,?My spirit lived, an atom of the Cause.?Through countless ages and in many forms?It has existed, ere it entered in?This human frame to serve its little day?Upon the earth. The deathless Me of me,?The spark from that great all-creative fire?Is part of that eternal source called God,?And mightier than the universe.
Why, he?Who knows, and knowing, never once forgets?The pedigree divine of his own soul,?Can conquer, shape and govern destiny?And use vast space as 'twere a board for chess?With stars for pawns; can change his horoscope?To suit his will; turn failure to success,?And from preordained sorrows, harvest joy.
There is no puny planet, sun or moon,?Or zodiacal sign which can control?The God in us! If we bring _that_ to bear?Upon events, we mold them to our wish,?'Tis when the infinite 'neath the finite gropes?That men are governed by their horoscopes.
=The Tendril's Faith=
Under the snow in the dark and the cold,?A pale little sprout was humming;?Sweetly it sang, 'neath the frozen mold,?Of the beautiful days that were coming.
"How foolish your songs," said a lump of clay,?"What is there, I ask, to prove them??Just look at the walls between you and the day,?Now, have you the strength to move them?"
But under the ice and under the snow?The pale little sprout kept singing,?"I cannot tell how, but I know, I know,?I know what the days are bringing."
"Birds, and blossoms, and buzzing bees,?Blue, blue skies above me,?Bloom on the meadows and buds on the trees,?And the great glad sun to love me."
A pebble spoke next: "You are quite absurd."?It said, "with your song's insistence;?For _I_ never saw a tree or a bird,?So of course there are none in existence."
"But I know, I know," the tendril cried,?In beautiful sweet unreason;?Till lo! from its prison, glorified,?It burst in the glad spring season.
=The Times=
The times are not degenerate. Man's faith?Mounts higher than of old. No crumbling creed?Can take from the immortal soul the need?Of that supreme Creator, God. The wraith?Of dead beliefs we cherished in our youth?Fades but to let us welcome new-born Truth.
Man may not worship at the ancient shrine?Prone on his face, in self-accusing scorn.?That night is past. He hails a fairer morn,?And knows himself a something all divine;?No humble worm whose heritage is sin,?But, born of God, he feels the Christ within.
Not loud his prayers, as in the olden time,?But deep his reverence for that mighty force.?That occult working of the great all Source,?Which makes the present era so sublime.?Religion now means something high and broad,?And man stood never half so near to God.
=The Question=
Beside us in our seeking after pleasures,?Through all our restless striving after fame,?Through all our search for worldly gains and treasures,?There walketh one whom no man likes to name.?Silent he follows, veiled of form and feature,?Indifferent if we sorrow or rejoice,?Yet that day comes when every living creature?Must look upon his face and hear his voice.
When that day comes to you, and Death, unmasking,?Shall bar your path, and say, "Behold the end,"?What are the questions that he will be asking?About your past? Have you considered, friend??I think he will not chide you for your sinning,?Nor for your creeds or dogmas will he care;?He will but ask, "_From your life's first beginning?How many burdens have you helped to bear_?"
=Sorrow's Uses=
The uses of sorrow I comprehend?Better and better at each year's end.
Deeper and deeper I seem to see?Why and wherefore it has to be.
Only after the dark, wet days?Do we fully rejoice in the sun's bright rays.
Sweeter the crust tastes after the fast?Than the sated gourmand's finest repast.
The faintest cheer sounds never amiss?To the actor who once has heard a hiss.
To one who the sadness of freedom knows,?Light seem the fetters love may impose.
And he who has dwelt with his heart alone,?Hears all the music in friendship's tone.
So better and better I comprehend,?How sorrow ever would be our friend.
=If=
Twixt what thou art, and what thou wouldst be, let?No "If" arise