Centre-Poised

The thoughtful Sage who feels his nature greater
    Than all it has done, or may do on earth, 
Trusts in himself because In his Creator, 
    And knows his lot commensurate with his birth.

A wondrous centre of a world of wonder, 
    With power and want, with hope and sorrow rife,
A soul discrowned, by jealous gods trod under,
    Alone he stands, a self in separate life.

Erect and calm, Eternal Right his zenith,
    The blasts of hate but gently fan his brew, 
And the loud storm that whelms whatever leaneth,
    Can never make his sturdy manhood bow.

The buried death-world is his gloomy nadir, 
    Unawed he walks above its dateless tombs, 
Or sometimes mining there, a bold invader,
    Rescues a live lamp from its Hadean glooms.

His eyes look level in the eyes of splendor, 
    And quail not at the basilisk glare of pride;
The prattling child returns his glances tender,
    With love's own smile, and glances azure-eyed.

Lean Lazarus is his brother, and plump Divès-
    While yet undoomed, in all his opulence-
Hath but this true man’s pity, warm to shrive his
    Poor soul earth-sodden in the joys of sense.

A fate within him gives his spirit fashion,
    And such high ends as elder Prophets saw,
He moves, an orb fire-cored with quenchless passion,
    Yet sphered harmonious by the eternal law.

The world around him may deny its honors,
    The word above him gives a starry crown;
The wings’ soft rustling of its angel donors
    Can all the noise of vaunting victors drown.

Meeting life's bounty with divine thanksgiving,
    Yet stirred and stung by glorious discontents,
His noble life aspires to nobler living, 
    His soul's large wealth bewails its indigence.

He climbs to catch the white dawn of the morrow
    With back turned broadly to the full to-day:
Joy's twilight flashes through the dews of sorrow,
    God's level glory paves the jagged way.

Girt with an adamantine wall of duty-
    A prison to fools, a rampart to the wise-
He seeks the wells of everlasting beauty, 
Led by their gleams in swift angelic eyes.

His purest prayer is wordless aspiration,
    His noblest work some hidden deed of love;
His brow reveals its secret coronation
    When bared to meet the radiance from above.

Reverent of all, but calling no man Master, 
    He stoops to none, if not to lift the low;
Wary of fortune, smiling at disaster,
    He walks a world that worldings never know.

Of burning hells and radiant heavens partaker,
    He drains the cup his guardian dæmon gave,
Free within bonds, his fate's predestined maker,
    He springs life's arch between the cradle and the grave!