Think not I speak of atoms only. Life
Is force that works - not the mere tool of clay.
All works to all. The Universe is rife,
With vital impresses, new-born each day,
Creating, as created. I must die.
In form and sense, but form and sense live yet,
Shaped from by past. Enough it is that I
Do well, to better these. I do forget
The babe that once I was; it knew not me;
Dead are its flesh, its form, its sense; yet say,
Was it in vain, the vanished babe should be,
Shaping the man who lives and joys to-day?
Enough! So learn, life is a thing of splendor,
And even suffering holds a keener joy;
The very voice of your despair may render
Wisdom to others for their strength's employ.
In such, you live, rejoicing. Feeling this,
Who can despair? I know fears or pains
But of the moment, and my reasoned bliss
Firm, undismayed, invincible remains
Within the higher thought. Quit gloomy dreaming!
Up, play the man! and with the evil cope!
Read upon Nature's path the signpost gleaming -
'Hope lives for all but those who will not hope!'