Best charity of heart, let not the droll Of vulgar men block out the noble life That lays before me; seen through the strife Your good gleams forth, and this I would extol. No wars of dark and light shall I bemoan Nor proud deny the factions of my care For all our folly I cannot but own In every way; yet for Man's faith I dare. There is no purity of gold untried By hottest heat; once, twice, yes seven times All thoughts of good are purged of petty lies That cling as vain-conceit; this, trials refine. Then stoke the furnace of experience With fiery ordeal and fiercer ply The avenues of self for that pittance Of worth that under pride so darkly lies. What goal before of grace your saints pursue Through worlds of strife in hope of what is true!
Like ships hurled upon raging storms am I Mystery tossed, the fool of untamed seas My soul forlorn and strong waves beating. Hard is the struggle in this long, dark night Long the venturing for peace through cruel despite Groaning, at last, this trial to overcome. Such vast recess of peril and naked doom To bear, seeking the uplifted beacon's bright light Where truth's assuredness is as the noon Secured by lauded faith's enduring might! Yet strange calms where onward once my hope blew on The sure contention as desperate deeds spent Doubt by doing, in hours of pressing trial a brief respite! Then struggle made me strong, on solid foes To flex determined thought where turns the tide Of loss, intent on proofs my striving will. But now where is my strength and constancy When stagnant set the winds and sails droop down As vain? All things grow bale with shifting doubt. Better now seems the hour of raging storms When all my being convulsed and harder tried Accustomed in my soul the likely end
Which in the circumspection made me strive For temperance and time’s acknowledged good. Yet here am I thrown back on taunting doubts As reeling pools descend, whereto I drift In weakness, weak against the empty air. Then Nothing is my fear, and this the grief- My mind cannot conceive the remedy For failing faith, but whispers all undone. I fade, tormented, worn and pushed below To glaring loss in this strange incubation. What agony and languishing of Fate! How now I wince the boast of active hours I lurched on trials, the inward battle cast To and fro, my soul in contests fraught once brave! O let me tempt this end to different ways And sway what hour remains toward true worth Secured, held fast in grace! Then would I glad Return the raging sea its fierce combat With honor to defend the failing hope Of truth; more firm in deed, undo the fates And lonely agonies of conscious thralldom Where is lost my joy of life, a captive fool to chance
Advancing nothing better than the beasts! Is this the trial I sought, this utmost strain That tends through agony to own the way of All our lives? A better recompense to noble aims Fit better to perfect the wayward thoughts Than all of bravery once sought to fill With proof more tangible? Then let me see My heart reflect truth’s light assured in love Not measured by the trials of carnal will Nor held submissive to the glint of time! Alas, bring forth my worth both tried and true And firmly fix my soul’s integrity Upon the sacred law in love’s remand! Perhaps I may yet prove my way when tried severe Where heart's necessity masters extremes Of despair and hope which speaks experience And quaff the dregs of strife, perhaps commune With families unseen and tribes of men Forgot; by self forgot in those who claim Their proof of worth by pride and every way Mere pleasure in consumptive greediness.
Such petty helps of outward show and gain Heaped up with selfishness and frauds of love… Corrupted and corrupting will that feigns The rites of self 'gainst loss; real loss unknown In ways that count the outward show of things! But love, the heart of knowing evident In those once proven true, accounts no thing As seen through carnal veils, times’ niceties. Such pomp depraved is that, the outward garb With which failed heart relieves the inward dross In outward style, the one dissemblance fair That postures worth, though no good intends Save praise, to some their best acclaim Where honesty is not enough to glut The appetites of I. But for the poor The proven fast, laying down their selfish strife For consummating grace and unity. So thought by thought, deed on deed, does love lead on To lasting worth and peace, which even death With its dread severance cannot separate Once sympathetic souls have met in grace.
More wondrous then I'll own this strife of life Which, in the balance, can trip-up proud thoughts And, by contrition, prove an upright goad Of mercy, yielding still an outward balm For inward wounds and, by that salving oil Of grace to remedy the ancient wrongs. What draught of life is here in unity Of pain, hope, faith, and love in which is found The universal heart of Man! Such webs Of night and day to interweave our worth That, careful tending, yields the sweet fragrance Of liberty and peace to waft along A high communion; lovely as a rose Its scent of life, unfolding evermore The virtues of our magnanimity!
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