Seeds of Thought

Maiden! I forego the appliance
    Of soft words and flattery’s harp,
But the chords of self-reliance
    Strike for thee, with twangings sharp.

In delight or in disaster,
    Maid or matron, young or old,
Be thy soul its only master,
    Gently strong and meekly bold.

Living hearts are ever wiser
    Than the records of the dead;
Prudent self is best adviser:
    True souls are not driven nor led.

In the graves of all the Fathers
    Choking dust is left alone,
While the humblest bosom gathers
    Inspiration from the Throne.

Best of old times cannot equal
    Simple Good of this our Now;
Our life is the past life’s sequel—
    Why, then, should it backward bow?

Every Future must be present
    Ere it serves to me or thee;
All its great, or good, or pleasant,
    Is now, or it could not be.

All our growth is evolution
    Of a first divine idea;
Dead accretion is confusion:
    Inward life must round our sphere.

By the holiest within us
    God to man is manifest;
What we are of good shall win us
    To what we may be of best.

Look not forth for some to-morrow
    When thou wilt be strong and wise;
But from every moment borrow
    Its whole virtue, as it flies.

Nothing good is won by asking:
    Work and pay, or nothing have;
Hardships are but Angels masking,
    Wrestled down they bless the brave.

Towers that lean, for all their grandeur
    Sooner into ruin sink;
The light upright shaft is stancher
    Than a cliff with jutting brink.

Soul and body it were better
    We died out with inch by inch,
Than, by begging, live the debtor
    Of high hearts that scorned to flinch!

We were born to be apostles;
    God is God of living souls,
And builds not from antique fossils
    The true Church’s guardian folds.

O ‘tis nobler! O ‘tis better
    To walk dauntless and alone
Than wear even an Angel’s fetter,
    Gold-linked to a golden throne!