Vanity of Vanities

Of all the downfalls in the world, The flutter of an Autumn leaf Grows grievous by suggesting grief: Who thought, when Spring was first unfurled, Of this? The wide world lay empearled; Who thought of frost that nips the world? Sigh on, my ditty.

There lurk a hundred subtle stings To prick us in our daily walk: An apple cankered on its stalk, A robin snared for all his wings, A voice that sang but never sings; Yea, sight or sound or silence stings. Kind Lord, show pity.

The hills are tipped with sunshine, while I walk In shadows dim and cold: The unawakened rose sleeps on her stalk In a bud’s fold, Until the sun flood all the world with gold.

The hills are crowned with glory, and the glow Flows widening down apace: Unto the sunny hill-tops I, set low, Lift a tired face,— Ah, happy rose, content to wait for grace!

How tired a face, how tired a brain, how tired A heart I lift, who long For something never felt but still desired; Sunshine and song, Song where the choirs of sunny heaven stand choired.

Scarce tolerable life, which all life long Is dominated by one dread of death; Is such life, life? if so, who pondereth May call salt sweetness or call discord song. Ah me, this solitude where swarms a throng! Life slowly grows and dwindles breath by breath: Death slowly grows on us; no word it saith, Its cords all lengthened and its pillars strong. Life dies apace, a life that but deceives: Death reigns as tho’ it lived, and yet is dead: Where is the life that dies not but that lives? The sweet long life, immortal, ever young, True life that wooes us with a silver tongue Of hope, much said and much more left unsaid.

All heaven is blazing yet With the meridian sun: Make haste, unshadowing sun, make haste to set; O lifeless life, have done. I choose what once I chose; What once I willed, I will: Only the heart its own bereavement knows; O clamorous heart, lie still.

That which I chose, I choose; That which I willed, I will; That which I once refused, I still refuse: O hope deferred, be still. That which I chose and choose And will is Jesus’ Will: He hath not lost his life who seems to lose: hope deferred, hope still.