Elective Fate

The school-boy tosses on the west wind’s wings
     His pictured kite, that far into the sky
     Leaps like the bird he names it, still more high, 
As the blast strengthens, till the taut line sings 
Like a drawn harp-string; but the same gale flings 
     Into low drifts the loose leaves hurrying by 
     In sudden whirls of aimless liberty,
To the pale limbo of dishonored things!
Fixed to her vital center a true soul
     Soars into deeper heavens, with prouder flight,
Against the breath of Fate that sweeps the shoal
     Of lawless lives far off in hollow night.
Her aspiration, by the rigid line 
Of duty poised, makes melody divine.

Where weaklings crouch before the omnipotence 
     Of absolute Law, and fling their souls a prey
     To the grim wheels that swerve not in their way 
For shriek or prayer, or burning frankincense, 
The strong by faith are mightier, knowing whence 
     All power proceeds. They make the eternal play
     Of tireless Force their engine, and the sway 
Of iron Fate their guardian Providence.
We are a portion of the Eternal Power, 
     Whose grinding wheels bear on our victor car 
When the calm soul disdains to stoop and cower, 
     Fronting the heavens serenely as a star;
What seemed a ring of iron Law before, 
Is now a Father's arm sustaining evermore.