It Can Be Done Part 40

There's a duffer in your district Whose sheer cussedness is such He has neither pride nor manners-- No, nor gumption, overmuch.

'Twould be great to up and tell him Where to go. But be resolved-- He's no foeman to be fought with, Just a problem to be solved.

This old earth's (I'm sometimes thinking) One menagerie of freaks-- Folks invested with abnormal Lungs or brains or galls or beaks.

But we're not just shrieking monkeys In a dim, vast cage revolved; We're not foemen to be fought with, Merely problems to be solved.

_St. Clair Adams_.

PROSPICE

Here the poet looks forward to death. He does not ask for an easy death; he does not wish to creep past an experience which all men sooner or later must face, and which many men have faced so heroically. He has fought well in life; he wishes to make the last fight too. The poem was written shortly after the death of Mrs. Browning, and the closing lines refer to her.

Fear death?--to feel the fog in my throat, The mist in my face, When the snows begin, and the blasts denote I am nearing the place, The power of the night, the press of the storm, The post of the foe; Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form, Yet the strong man must go: For the journey is done and the summit attained, And the barriers fall, Though a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be gained, The reward of it all.

I was ever a fighter, so--one fight more, The best and the last!

I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore.

And bade me creep past.

No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers The heroes of old, Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears Of pain, darkness and cold.

For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave, The black minute's at end, And the elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave, Shall dwindle, shall blend, Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain, Then a light, then thy breast, O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again, And with G.o.d be the rest!

_Robert Browning_.

THE GREATNESS OF THE SOUL

Geologists tell us that in the long processes of the ages mountains have been raised and leveled, continents formed and washed away. Astronomers tell us that in s.p.a.ce are countless worlds, many of them doubtless inhabited--perhaps by creatures of a lower type than we, perhaps by creatures of a higher. The magnitude of these changes and of these worlds makes the imagination reel. But on one thing we can rely--the greatness of the human soul. On one thing we can confidently build--the men whose spirit is lofty, divine.

For tho' the Giant Ages heave the hill And break the sh.o.r.e, and evermore Make and break, and work their will; Tho' world on world in myriad myriads roll Round us, each with different powers, And other forms of life than ours, What know we greater than the soul?

On G.o.d and G.o.dlike men we build our trust.

_Alfred Tennyson_.

HEINELET

What sheer perseverance can accomplish, even in matters of the heart, is revealed in this little poem written in Heine's mood of mingled seriousness and gayety.

He asked if she ever could love him.

She answered him, no, on the spot.

He asked if she ever could love him.

She a.s.sured him again she could not.

He asked if she ever could love him.

She laughed till his blushes he hid.

He asked if she ever could love him.

By G.o.d, she admitted she did.

_Gamaliel Bradford_.

From "Shadow Verses."

STAND FORTH!

The human spirit can triumph over difficulties, as flowers bloom along the edge of the Alpine snow.

Stand forth, my soul, and grip thy woe, Buckle the sword and face thy foe.

What right hast thou to be afraid When all the universe will aid?

Ten thousand rally to thy name, Horses and chariots of flame.

Do others fear? Do others fail?

_My soul must grapple and prevail_.

My soul must scale the mountainside And with the conquering army ride-- Stand forth, my soul!

Stand forth, my soul, and take command.

'Tis I, thy master, bid thee stand.

Claim thou thy ground and thrust thy foe, Plead not thine enemy should go.

Let others cringe! My soul is free, No hostile host can conquer me.

There lives no circ.u.mstance so great Can make me yield, or doubt my fate.

My soul must know what kings have known.

Must reach and claim its rightful throne-- Stand forth, my soul!

I ask no truce, I have no qualms, I seek no quarter and no alms.

Let those who will obey the sod, My soul sprang from the living G.o.d.

'Tis I, the king, who bid thee stand; Grasp with thy hand my royal hand-- Stand forth!

_Angela Morgan_.

From "The Hour Has Struck."