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What was good shall be good, with, for evil, so much
good more; On the earth the broken arcs; in the heaven, a
perfect round. All we have willed or hoped or dreamed of good shall
exist; Not its semblance, but itself; no beauty, nor good,
nor power Whose voice has gone forth, but each survives for the
melodist When eternity affirms the conception of an hour. The high that proved too high, the heroic for earth
too hard, The passion that left the ground to lose itself in the
sky, Are music' sent up to God by the lover and the bard; Enough that he heard it once: we shall hear it by
And what is our failure here but a triumph's evidence For the fulness of the days? Have we withered or
agonized ? Why else was the pause prolonged but that singing
might issue thence? Why rushed the discords in but that harmony should
be prized? Sorrow is hard to bear, and doubt is slow to clear, Each sufferer says his say, his scheme of the weal
and woe: But God has a few of us whom he whispers in the ear; The rest may reason and welcome: 'tis we musicians
Well, it is earth with me; silence resumes her reign :
I will be patient and proud, and soberly acquiesce. Give me the keys. I feel for the common chord again, Sliding by semitones, till I sink to the minor,-yes, VOL. II.
And I blunt it into a ninth, and I stand on alien ground, Surveying awhile the heights I rolled from into the
deep; Which, hark, I have dared and done, for my resting
place is found, The C Major of this life: so, now I will try to sleep.
RABBI BEN EZRA
U The best is yet to be,
Our times are in His hand
Who saith “A whole I planned,
nor be afraid!”
Youth sighed “Which rose make ours,
Not that, admiring stars,
It yearned “Nor Jove, nor Mars;
transcends them all!”
Annulling youth's brief years,
Rather I prize the doubt
Low kinds exist without
Poor vaunt of life indeed,
As sure an end to men;
Rejoice we are allied
To That which doth provide
A spark disturbs our clod;
Nearer we hold of God Who gives, than of His tribes that take, I must
Then, welcome each rebuff
That turns earth's smoothness rough, Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but go!
Be our joys three-parts pain!
Strive, and hold cheap the strain; Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge
For thence,-a paradox
Which comforts while it mocks. Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail:
What I aspired to be,
And was not, comforts me: A brute I might have been, but would not sink
i' the scale.
What is he but a brute
Whose flesh has soul to suit, Whose spirit works lest arms and legs want play?
To man, propose this test
Thy body at its best, How far can that project thy soul on its lone way?
Yet gifts should prove their use:
I own the Past profuse
Eyes, ears took in their dole,
Brain treasured up the whole; Should not the heart beat once “How good to live