Jan 15 – The Fool

To be loveless, uncaring, and unforgiving is to be a fool. No fool is more foolish than one who eagerly expounds love, care, and forgiveness while failing to love, care, and forgive.

It is not by the onward sweep of truth and right we stay.
It is by our follies we hold heaven away.

Whatever may happen to you, it was prepared for you from all eternity.

Gradatim
Heaven is not reached at a single bound
But we build the ladder by which we rise
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies
And we mount to its summit round by round

I count this thing to be grandly true
That a noble deed is a step toward God
Lifting the soul from the common sod
To a purer air and a broader view

We rise by the things are under our feet
By what we have mastered of good and gain
By the pride deposed and the passion slain
And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet

We hope we aspire we resolve we trust
When the morning calls us to life and light
But our hearts grow weary and ere the night
Our lives are trailing the sordid dust

We hope we resolve we aspire we pray
And we think we mount the air on wings
Beyond the reach of sensual things
While our feet still cling to the heavy clay

Wings for the angel but feet for men
We may borrow the wings to find the way
We may hope and resolve and aspire and pray
But our feet must rise or we fall again

Only in dreams is a ladder thrown
From the weary earth to the sapphire walls
But the dreams depart and the vision falls
And the sleeper waits on his pillow of stone

Heaven is not reached by a single bound
But we build the ladder by which we rise
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies
And we mount to its summit round by round

Things More Excellent
As we wax older on this earth,
Till many a toy that charmed us seems
Emptied of beauty, stripped of worth,
And mean as dust and dead as dreams,–
For gauds that perished, shows that passed,
Some recompense the Fates have sent:
Thrice lovelier shine the things that last,
The things that are more excellent.

Tired of the Senate’s barren brawl,
An hour with silence we prefer,
Where statelier rise the woods than all
Yon towers of talk at Westminster.
Let this man prate and that man plot,
On fame or place or title bent:
The votes of veering crowds are not
The things that are more excellent.

Shall we perturb and vex our soul
For “wrongs” which no true freedom mar,
Which no man’s upright walk control,
And from no guiltless deed debar?
What odds though tonguesters heal, or leave
Unhealed, the grievance they invent?
To things, not phantoms, let us cleave–
The things that are more excellent.

Nought nobler is, than to be free:
The stars of heaven are free because
In amplitude of liberty
Their joy is to obey the laws.
From servitude to freedom’s _name_
Free thou thy mind in bondage pent;
Depose the fetich, and proclaim
The things that are more excellent.

And in appropriate dust be hurled
That dull, punctilious god, whom they
That call their tiny clan the world,
Serve and obsequiously obey:
Who con their ritual of Routine,
With minds to one dead likeness blent,
And never ev’n in dreams have seen
The things that are more excellent.

To dress, to call, to dine, to break
No canon of the social code,
The little laws that lacqueys make,
The futile decalogue of Mode,–
How many a soul for these things lives,
With pious passion, grave intent!
While Nature careless-handed gives
The things that are more excellent.

To hug the wealth ye cannot use,
And lack the riches all may gain,–
O blind and wanting wit to choose,
Who house the chaff and burn the grain!
And still doth life with starry towers
Lure to the bright, divine ascent!–
Be yours the things ye would: be ours
The things that are more excellent.

The grace of friendship–mind and heart
Linked with their fellow heart and mind;
The gains of science, gifts of art;
The sense of oneness with our kind;
The thirst to know and understand–
A large and liberal discontent:
These are the goods in life’s rich hand,
The things that are more excellent.

In faultless rhythm the ocean rolls,
A rapturous silence thrills the skies;
And on this earth are lovely souls,
That softly look with aidful eyes.
Though dark, O God, Thy course and track,
I think Thou must at least have meant
That nought which lives should wholly lack
The things that are more excellent.

~ by kennybeal on January 15, 2009.