Oh! Why Should The Spirit Of Mortal Be Proud?
Oh! why
should the spirit of mortal be proud?
Like a swift-fleeting meteor, a fast-flying cloud,
A flash of the lightning , a break of the wave,
Man passeth from life to his rest in the grave.
The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade,
Be scattered around, and together be laid;
And the young and the old, and the low and the high
Shall molder to dust and together shall die.
The infant a mother attended and loved;
The mother that infant's affection who proved;
The husband that mother and infant have blessed-
Each, all, are away to their dwellings of-rest-
The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eye,
Shone beauty and pleasure-her triumphs are by:
And the memory of those who loved her and praised
Are alike from the minds of the living erased.
The hand of the king that the scepter hath borne;
The brow of the priest that the miter hath worn;
The eye of the sage, and the heart of the brave,
Are hidden and lost in the depth of the grave.
The peasant whose lot was to sow and to reap;
The herdsman who climbed with his goats up the steep;
The beggar who wandered in search of his bread,
Have faded away like the grass that we tread.
The saint who enjoyed the communion of heaven;
The sinner who dared to remain unforgiven;
The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just,
Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust.
So the multitude goes, like the flowers or the weed
That withers away to let others succeed;
So the multitude comes, even those we behold,
To repeat every take that has often been told.
For we are the same our fathers have been;
We see the same sights our fathers have seen;
We drink the same stream, and view the same sun
And run the same course out fathers have run.
The thoughts we are thinking out fathers would think;
From the death we are shrinking our fathers would shrink;
To the life we are clinging they also would cling;
But it speeds for us all, like a bird on the wing.
They loved, but the story we cannot unfold;
They scorned, but the heart of the haughty is cold;
They grieved, but no wail from their slumbers will come:
They joyed, but the tongues of their gladness is dumb.
They died aye! they died; and we things that are now,
Who walk on the turf that lies over their brow,
Who make in their welling a transient abode,
Meet the things that they met on their pilgrimage road.
Yea! Hope and despondency, pleasure and pain,
We mingle together in sunshine and rain;
And the smiles and the tears, the song and the dirge,
Still follow each other, like surge upon surge.
'Tis the wink of an eye, 'tis the draught of a breath,
From the blossom of health to the paleness of death,
From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud-
Oh! why should the spirit of mortal be proud?
--William
Knox
Love
Thyself Last
Love
thyself last; look near, behold thy duty
To those who walk beside thee down life's road;
Make glad their days be little acts of beauty,
And help them bear the burden or earth's load.
Love thyself last; look far and find the stranger
Who staggers 'neath his sin and his despair;
Go, lend a hand and lead him out of danger
To heights where he may see the world is fair.
Love thyself last; the vastness above thee
Are filled with spirit forces, strong and pure;
And fervently these faithful friends shall love thee,
Keep thy watch over others and endure.
Love thyself last; and thou shalt grow in spirit
To see, to hear, to know and understand;
The message of the stars, lo, thou shalt hear it,
And all God's joys shall be at thy command.
--Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Resolve
Build on
resolve, and not upon regret,
The structure of thy future. Do not grope
Among the shadows of old sins, but let
Thine own soul's light shine on the path of hope
And dissipate the darkness. Waste no tears
Upon the blotted record of lost years,
But turn the leaf and smile, oh, smile, to see
The fair white pages that remain for thee.
Prate not of thy repentance. But believe
The spark divine dwells in thee: let it grow.
That which the unpreaching spirit can achieve
The grand and all-creative forces know;
They will assist and strengthen as the light
Lifts up the acorn to the oak tree's height.
Thou hast but to resolve, and lo! God's whole
Great universe shall fortify thy soul.
--Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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