Classic Poem

When I cross the river in the morning,
Seeing the tugs and steamships go up and down,
Watching the schooners loaded with coal starting for a voyage north or south along the coast,
With all the little boats darting pushing everywhere to and fro,
I feel happier about myself, taking counsel of the life I observe,
Convinced somehow that just as all the objects I look at are bent upon some errand of use or joy,
Even the shifting clouds overhead upon some errand, even the water itself upon some errand,
So too am I even if I cannot explain it to myself bent upon some errand of eternal noble purport.

Do you think the ships go out through the bay to the sea and that is the last of it?
Do you think the cargoes aboard the ships are delivered at some port and that is the last of it?
Do you think the crews who man the ships and the passengers go to some other place and that is the last of it?
Do you think that life itself seeds and harvests the earth for a season and disappears and that is the last of it?
There is something more: I am not able to make too much of right and left north and south,
But there is something more and that the most wonderful yet remaining still to come to all,
Giving the final meanings and the justification to the puzzles of days and nights,
Making of one issue voyage and voyagers and ports and the endless new beginnings of souls.

I see you crying bitter tears, my darling, but I do not think that is all there is to it:
I see children grow pale working in mills and mothers there with them working with thin fingers and dull eyes,
I see fathers driven like cattle to their trades with little pay to balance the wear and tear of hope,
I see nations conquer nations and cruel shame put on peoples innocent of crime or aggression,
I see the farms and the stores and the factories ravaged by rents and interests and profits,
I see those who loaf rewarded with exhaustless treasure and those who labor outraged, reduced to the last cent:
It is all bad to look at, all impossible to make light of, my heart revolts and challenges its destruction:
Yet I know that is not all there is to it: I know there is more to come:
The story is not concluded in the shadow, is not finished with failure:
There is more to it: there is sunlight to it on a little farther — believe me:
There is more to it: there is success to it on a little farther — believe me.

The tree that so liberally gave us fruit is dead on the ground,
The leaves that rustled for us in musical winds are powder to the dust of the earth,
The house that sheltered our dear mothers and fathers and others before them was last night consumed by fire.

No one says that is the end of it: we know better: we feel what we do not see:
The door may open and shut but there is always something both sides of the door:
Is there less entailed with you darling sisters darling brothers my comrades?
I say that no matter whether the door does open and shut you are always on one side or the other of the door.
I do not say goodbye to the ship that sails away down the broad river:
The officer stands on the bridge and waves his hand to me as he passes and I wave my hand back,
But that does not mean that the ship is sailing without a purpose never to arrive anywhere:
For even the ship that goes down in the stormy seas arrives somewhere and arrives living and secure:
Out of the wreckage rises the soul of the ship to sail freely its deeper ceaseless seas:
Not less surely shall your soul and my soul rise however submerged to be piloted from port to port of joy.

I salute the ferryman who smiles at me knowingly: He seems to me like an angel there ushering me to a passage across to the unseen:
Then the boat leaves the dock: out in the stream we join the fleet of carriers:
Going, coming, the sun overhead, my interior resolution, the swift current: nothing in all the scene adrift.
Dear river, you flow towards God whether you ebb or flood:
Dear ships, you sail towards God whether you set forth or return:
And you, dear souls, you who are sisters I love and brothers I love,
Do you do less? with none of these adrift are you adrift? oh! are you adrift?
With everything else sailing towards God whichever way they sail can you be adrift?
Take me by the hand: I will not falter or recall my reassuring words:
We too hand in hand, loving and seeing justice done in the market place,
We too sail towards God and could not in whatever rebellion change our course
I behold the vision of souls sailing towards God with the ships sailing and the tides sailing,
I behold even the sorrow and the evil sailing towards God with the joy sailing and the good sailing,
When I cross the river in the morning.