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Isn't it strange how princes and kings,

and clowns that caper in sawdust rings,

and common people, like you and me,

are builders for eternity?



Each is given a list of rules;

a shapeless mass; a bag of tools.

And each must fashion, ere life is flown,

A stumbling block, or a Stepping-Stone.

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One ship drives East,

and another drives West,

With the self-same winds that blow;

Tis the set of the sails, and not the gales,

Which tells us the way to go.



Like the winds of the sea are the ways of fate,

As we voyage along through life;

Tis the set of the soul that decides its goal,

And not the calm or the strife.

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Morality

Matthew Arnold

(1822-1888)



We cannot kindle when we will

The fire which in the heart resides;

The spirit bloweth and is still,

In mystery our soul abides.

But tasks in hours of insight will'd

Can be through hours of gloom fulfill'd.

With aching hands and bleeding feet

We dig and heap, lay stone on stone;

We bear the burden and the heat

Of the long day, and wish 'twere done.

Not till the hours of light return,

All we have built do we discern.



Then, when the clouds are off the soul,

When thou dost bask in Nature's eye,

Ask, how she view'd thy self-control,

Thy struggling, task'd morality--

Nature, whose free, light, cheerful air,

Oft made thee, in thy gloom, despair.



And she, whose censure thou dost dread,

Whose eye thou wast afraid to seek,

See, on her face a glow is spread,

A strong emotion on her cheek!

"Ah, child!" she cries, "that strife divine,

Whence was it, for it is not mine?



"There is no effort on my brow--

I do not strive, I do not weep;

I rush with the swift spheres and glow

In joy, and when I will, I sleep.

Yet that severe, that earnest air,

I saw, I felt it once--but where?



"I knew not yet the gauge of time,

Nor wore the manacles of space;

I felt it in some other clime,

I saw it in some other place.

'Twas when the heavenly house I trod,

And lay upon the breast of God."