Love Letters of a Violinist and Other Poems Part 24

The welkin wonders when the ocean calls, And earth accepts the raindrop when it falls.

V.

There are no "ups" in life, there are no "downs,"

For "high" and "low" are words of like degree; He who is light of heart when Fortune frowns, He is a king though nameless in the towns.

VI.

None is so lofty as the sage who prays, None so unhigh as he who will not kneel.

The breeze is servant to the summer days, And he is bowed-to most who most obeys.

VII.

These are the maxims that I take to heart, Do thou accept them, reader, for thine own; Love well thy work; be truthful in the mart, And foes will praise thee when thy friends depart.

VIII.

None shall upbraid thee then for thine estate, Or show thee meaner than thou art in truth.

Make friends with death; and G.o.d who is so great, He will a.s.sist thee to a n.o.bler fate.

IX.

None are unfit to serve upon their knees The saints of prayer, unseen but quick to hear.

The flowers are servants to the pilgrim bees, And wintry winds are tyrants of the trees.

X.

All things are good; all things incur a debt, And all must pay the same, or soon or late The sun will rise betimes, but he must set; And Man must seek the laws he would forget.

XI.

There are no mockeries in the universe, No false accounts, no errors that will thrive.

The work we do, the good things we rehea.r.s.e, Are boons of Nature basely named a curse.

XII.

"Give us our daily bread!" the children pray, And mothers plead for them while thus they speak.

But "Give us work, O G.o.d!" we men should say, That we may gain our bread from day to day.

XIII.

'Tis not alone the crown that makes the king; 'Tis service done, 'tis duty to his kind.

The lark that soars so high is quick to sing, And proud to yield allegiance to the spring.

XIV.

And we who serve ourselves, whate'er befall Athwart the dangers of the day's behests, Oh, let's not s.h.i.+rk, at joy or sorrow's call, The service due to G.o.d who serves us all!

SYLVIA IN THE WEST.

I.

What shall be done? I cannot pray; And none shall know the pangs I feel.

If prayers could alter night to day,-- Or black to white,--I might appeal; I might attempt to sway thy heart, And prove it mine, or claim a part.

II.

I might attempt to urge on thee At least the chance of some redress:-- An hour's revoke,--a moment's plea,-- A smile to make my sorrows less.

I might indeed be taught in time To blush for hope, as for a crime!

III.

But thou art stone, though soft and fleet,-- A statue, not a maiden, thou!

A man may hear thy bosom beat When thou hast sworn some idle vow.

But not for love, no! not for this; For thou wilt sell thy bridal kiss.

IV.

I mean, thy friends will sell thy love, As loves are sold in England, here.

A man will buy my golden dove,-- I doubt he'll find his bargain dear!

He'll lose the wine; he'll buy the bowl, The life, the limbs, but not the soul.

V.

So, take thy mate and all his wealth, And all the joys that wait on fame.

Thou'lt weep,--poor martyr'd one!--by stealth, And think of me, and shriek my name; Yes, in his arms! And wake, too late, To coax and kiss the man you hate.

VI.

By slow degrees, from year to year, From week to week, from night to night, He will be taught how dark and drear Is barter'd love,--how sad to sight A perjured face! He will be driven To compa.s.s h.e.l.l,--and dream of Heaven.