Part 9 (2/2)

PROGRESSION

To each progressive soul there comes a day When all things that have pleased and satisfied Grow flavourless, the springs of joy seem dried.

No more the waters of youth's fountains play; Yet out of reach, tiptoeing as they may, The more mature and higher pleasures hide.

Life, like a careless nurse, fails to provide New toys for those the soul has cast away.

Upon a strange land's border all alone, Awhile it stands dismayed and desolate.

Nude too, since its old garments are outgrown; Till clothed with strength befitting its estate, It grasps at length those raptures that are known To souls who learn to labour, and to wait.

ACQUAINTANCE

Not we who daily walk the city's Not those who have been cradled in its heart, Best understand its architectural art Or realise its grandeur. Oft we meet Some stranger who has staid his pa.s.sing feet And lingered with us for a single hour, And learned more of cathedral, and of tower, Than we who deem our knowledge quite complete.

Not always those we hold most loved and dear, Not always those who dwell with us, know best Our greater selves. Because they stand so near They cannot see the lofty mountain crest, The gleaming sun-kissed height, which fair and clear Stands forth--revealed unto the some-time guest.

ATTAINMENT

There is no summit you may not attain, No purpose which you may not yet achieve, If you will wait serenely and believe.

Each seeming loss is but a step to'rd gain.

Between the mountain-tops lie vale and plain; Let nothing make you question, doubt, or grieve; Give only good, and good alone receive; And as you welcome joy, so welcome pain.

That which you most desire awaits your word; Throw wide the door and bid it enter in.

Speak, and the strong vibrations shall be stirred; Speak, and above earth's loud, unmeaning din Your silent declarations shall be heard.

All things are possible to G.o.d's own kin.

THE TOWER-ROOM

There is a room serene and fair, All palpitant with light and air; Free from the dust, world's noise and fuss - G.o.d's Tower-room in each of us.

Oh! many a stair our feet must press, And climb from self to selflessness, Before we reach that radiant room Above the discord and the gloom.

So many, many stairs to climb, But mount them gently--take your time; Rise leisurely, nor strive to run - Not so the mightiest feats are done.

Well doing of the little things: Repression of the word that stings; The tempest of the mind made still By victory of the G.o.d-like will.

The hated task performed in love - All these are stairs that wind above The things that trouble and annoy, Up to the Tower-room of joy.

Rise leisurely; the stairs once trod Reveal the mountain peaks of G.o.d; And from its upper room the soul Sees all, in one united whole.

FATHER

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