WHY thus mourn o’er star-hopes faded?
They are only from thy ken,
By a passing vapour shaded,
And will soon appear again:
Would thou prove a moral warrior,
Up, and make the present thine!
Trust me every doubt’s a barrier
To life’s heritage divine.
Not the Cytherean, truly
Vain its pursuit and unwise;
But the joy Uranian duly
Seek we that, and rich the prize:
But for that be our endeavour
And, afar our doubt and fear,
We shall be a loser never,
Tho’ a loser we appear.
Tho’ by many foes encircled
Is the outer life, the worst,
By whose shadow life is darkled,
In the heart is hatched and nursed:
All the ill to man else render’d,
Is a jest of merry elf,
When compared to what’s engender’d
Thro’ the sense-born syren self.
From our bosom the infernal—
All that’s mean, and low, and base,
Every wish and longing carnal,
Chase we then or seek to chase;
Clearer to us then, and clearer
Would life’s complex riddle seem,
And our vanished Edens nearer
Than at present we may deem.
Then would in our bosom clearly,
Tho’ in miniature be seen,
Not the lifeless image merely,
But the God in all his sheen;
Yea, we’d there, stamped with the Ego
Of the All in All unworn
Thro’ time’s Alpha and Omega,
Find the best of all we mourn.
Lose we may the husk, and perish
What the outer senses prize—
What the inner love and cherish,
Never from us fades nor flies;
Hid it may be from the spirit,
Only for awhile it’s hid,
And one day will gift our merit
With a joy to sense forbid.
One with the Eternal ever,
Even thus to man’s reveal’d,
Time from him his hopes may sever,—
Time at last to him must yield;
Let but this be comprehended,
Death to our despair were dealt,
And our selfish murmurs ended,
Sweet the thrill within us felt.
Glory-dowered the task before us
Then would cease to be a task;
Nay, we’d have what could secure us
Whatsoever we would ask;
Should a thorn then pierce our bosom,
E’en before the pang had flown—
Even that would bloom a blossom,
Our right royal heads to crown.
“Valor’s born from self-denial,
Wisdom from each stern rebuke,
Power from every pain and trial,
That the human soul may brook;
”This, or anthem more impassion’d,
Would express the faith we’d hold,
And for us a girth be fashion’d,
Richer than a girth of gold.
Smiles would leap to hail us victor,
From each flower and running brook,
Beauty would herself impicture
On whatever we might look;
Stars, the blessed stars my brother,
Would attend us in the night,
And creation’s self be other
Than it seems to common sight.
Would’st thou prove a moral warrior
Up and make the present thine!
Trust me every doubt’s a barrier,
To life’s heritage divine;
Sagest heroes, heroic sages,
So have taught since time began;
Up and earn a hero’s s wages,
Up, then up! and be a man.
Other works by Joseph Skipsey...
