Classic Poem

I .

The Bible is a book worthy to read,
The life of those great Prophets is the life we need,
From all delusive seeming ever freed.

Be not afraid to utter what thou art,
'Tis no disgrace to keep an open heart;
A soul free, frank, and loving friends to aid,
Not even does this harm a gentle maid.

Strive as thou canst, thou wilt not value o'er
Thy life; — thou standest on a lighted shore,
And from the depths of an unfathom'd sea
The noblest impulses flow tenderly to thee;
Feel them as they arise, and take them free.

Better live unknown,
No heart but thy own
Beating ever near,
To no mortal dear
In thy hemisphere,
Poor and wanting bread
Steeped in poverty,
Than to be in dread,
Than to be afraid
From thyself to flee.
For it is not living,
To a soul believing,
To change each noble joy
Which our strength employs,
For a state half rotten,
And a life of toys;
Better be forgotten
Than lose equipoise.

How shall I live? In earnestness.
What shall I do? Work earnestly.
What shall I give? A willingness.
What shall I gain? Tranquillity.
But do you mean a quietness
In which I act, and no man bless?
Flash out in action, infinite and free,
Action conjoined with deep tranquillity,
Resting upon the soul's true utterance,
And life shall flow as merry as a dance.

Being, — not seeming,
Thinking, — not dreaming,
Heavenward tending,
To all nature bending,
In transport unending;
Then shalt thou follow
The flight of the swallow; —
In a green flowery spring
Thy life's on the wing.

II .

Life is too good to waste, enough to prize;
Keep looking round with clear unhooded eyes;
Love all thy brothers, and for them endure
Many privations, the reward is sure.

A little thing! There is no little thing;
Through all a joyful song is murmuring,
Each leaf, each stem, each sound in winter drear
Hath deepest meanings for an anxious ear.

Thou seest life is sad; the father mourns his wife and child;
Keep in the midst of sorrows a fair aspect mild.

A howling fox, a shrieking owl,
A violent distracting Ghoul,
Forms of the most infuriate madness, —
These may not move thy soul to gladness,
But look within the dark outside,
Nought shalt thou hate, and nought deride.

Thou meetest a common man,
With a delusive show of can;
His acts are petty forgeries of natural greatness,
That show a dreadful lateness
Of this world's mighty impulses; a want of truthful earnestness:
He seems, not does, and in that shows
No true nobility,
A poor ductility
That no proper office knows,
Not even estimation small of human woes.

Be not afraid;
His understanding aid
With thy own pure content,
On highest purpose bent.

Leave him not lonely,
For that his admiration
Fastens on self and seeming only.
Make a right dedication
Of all thy strength to keep
From swelling, that so ample heap
Of lives abased and virtue given for nought.
And thus it shall appear for all in nature hast thou wrought.
If thou unconsciously perform what's good
Like nature's self thy proper mood.

A life well spent is like a flower
That had bright sunshine its brief hour;
It flourished in pure willingness,
Discovered strongest earnestness,
Was fragrant for each lightest wind,
Was of its own particular kind,
Nor knew a tone of discord sharp;
Breathed alway like a silver harp,
And went to immortality,
A very proper thing to die.