Thoughts, Moods and Ideals: Crimes of Leisure | Page 6

in the Life we see.
TO THE SOUL.
AN ODE OF EVOLUTION
O lark aspire!?Aspire forever, in thy morning sky!--?Forever soul, beat bravely, gladly, higher,?And sing and sing that sadness is a lie.
Forever, soul, achieve!?Droop not an instant into sloth and rest.?Live in a changeless moment of the best?And lower heights to Heaven forgotten leave.
Man still will strive.?Delight of battle leaped within his sires.?They laughed at death; and Life was all alive:?In him not blood it seeks, but vast desires.
He wakens from a dream?Reviews the forms he fought in ages gone--?He or his ancestors, their shapes are one:--?And also of himself the forms he battled seem.
He sees the truth!?"I wrestled with myself, and rose to strength.?Still be that progress mine!--I see at length?All World, all Soul are one, all ages youth!"
THE PALMER.
O solemn clime to which my spirit looks,?No more will I the path to thee defer,--?Worn here with search--a too sad wanderer,--?The dance-tune spent, surpassed the sacred books,?And spurned that city's walls where I did plan?A thousand lives, unwitting I was pent;?As though my thousand lives could be content?With any vista in the bounds of man!
Eternal clime, our exile is from thee!?Flood o'er thy portals like the tender morn!--?Receive! receive! and let us new be born!?We are thy substance--spirit of thy degree--?Mist of thy bliss--fire, love, infinity!?And only by some mischance from thee torn.
THE ARTIST'S PRAYER.
I know thee not, O Spirit fair!?O Life and flying Unity?Of Loveliness! Must man despair?Forever in his chase of thee!
When snowy clouds flash silver-gilt,?Then feel I that thou art on high!?When fire o'er all the west is spilt,?Flames at its heart thy majesty.
Thy beauty basks on distant hills;?It smiles in eve's wine-colored sea;?It shakes its light on leaves and rills;?In calm ideals it mocks at me;
Thy glances strike from many a lake?That lines through woodland scapes a sheen;?Yet to thine eyes I never wake:--?They glance, but they remain unseen.
I know thee not, O Spirit fair!?Thou fillest heaven: the stars are thee:?Whatever fleets with beauty rare?Fleets radiant from thy mystery.
Forever thou art near my grasp;?Thy touches pass in twilight air;?Yet still--thy shapes elude my clasp:--?I know thee not, thou Spirit fair!
O Ether, proud, and vast, and great,?Above the legions of the stars!?To this thou art not adequate;--?Nor rainbow's glorious scimitars.
I know thee not, thou Spirit sweet!?I chained pursue, while thou art free.?Sole by the smile I sometimes meet?I know thou, Vast One, knowest me.
In old religions hadst thou place:?Long, long, O Vision, our pursuit!?Yea, monad, fish and childlike brute?Through countless ages dreamt thy grace.
Grey nations felt thee o'er them tower;?Some clothed thee in fantastic dress;?Some thought thee as the unknown Power,?I, e'er the unknown Loveliness.
To all, thou wert as harps of joy;?To bard and sage their fulgent sun:?To priests their mystic life's employ;?But unto me the Lovely One.
Veils clothed thy might; veils draped thy charm;?The might they tracked, but I the grace;?They learnt all forces were thine Arm,?I that all beauty was thy Face.
Night spares us little. Wanderers we.?Our rapt delights, our wisdoms rare?But shape our darknesses of thee,--?We know thee not, thou Spirit fair!
Would that thine awful Peerlessness?An hour could shine o'er heaven and earth?And I the maddening power possess?To drink the cup,--O Godlike birth!
All life impels me to thy search:?Without thee, yea, to live were null;?Still shall I make the dawn thy Church,?And pray thee "God the Beautiful."
THE WIND-CHANT.
The Soul, the inner, immortal Ruler.--Hindu Upanishad.
"Witch-like, see it planets roll,?Hear it from the cradle call--?Nature?--Nature is the soul;?That alone is aught and all.?Grieved or broken though the song,?The fount of music is elate,?For the Soul is ever strong,?For the Soul is ever great."
"For the Soul is ever great!"--?Songless sat I by a grove,?Pines, like funeral priests of state,?Chanted solemn rites above.?Dark and glassy far below,?The River in his proud vale slept,?Eve with olive-shafted bow?Like a stealthy archer crept.
Why, O Masters, then I thought,?Is the mantle yours, of song??Why with hours like this do not?Glorious strains to all belong?
Why all_ choosing, why _all ban??Why are lords, and why are slaves?And the most of gentle man?Clipt and harried to their graves??Foiled and ruined, masses die?That one fair and noble be.?Why are all not Masters? Why?So unjust is Life's decree?
Why are poor and why are rich??Why are slaves and why are lords??Unto this the splendid niche:?Those caste damneth in their words.?Do not powers of evil reign??Do not flashes' storms make dread??Should not He of Life again?Bring the just peace of the dead?
Oft the Pines, like priests of state,?Have spoke the heavenly word to man;?So above me as I sate??ol voices chanting ran:?"For the Soul is ever great?For the Soul is ever strong;?In the murmurer it can wait--?In the shortest sight see long.
"Not a yearning but is proof?Thou art yet its aim to own:?Thou the warp art and the woof,?Not the woof or warp alone.?Couldst thou drop the lead within?To the