To An Astrologer

Nay, seer, I do not doubt thy mystic lore, Nor question that the tenor of my life, Past, present, and the future, is revealed There in my horoscope. I do believe That yon dead moon compels the haughty seas To ebb and flow, and that my natal star Stands like a stern-browed sentinel in space And challenges events; nor lets one grief, Or joy, or failure, or success, pass on To mar or bless my earthly lot, until It proves its Karmic right to come to me. All this I grant, but more than this I know! Before the solar systems were conceived, When nothing was but the unnamable, My spirit lived, an atom of the Cause. Through countless ages and in many forms It has existed, ere it entered in This human frame to serve its little day Upon the earth. The deathless Me of me. The spark from that great all-creative fire, Is part of that eternal source called God, And mightier than the universe. Why, he Who knows, and knowing, never once forgets The pedigree divine of his own soul, Can conquer, shape, and govern destiny, And use vast space as ’twere a board for chess With stars for pawns; can change his horoscope To suit his will; turn failure to success, And from preordained sorrows, harvest joy. There is no puny planet, sun, or moon, Or zodiacal sign which can control The God in us! If we bring that to bear Upon events, we mould them to our wish; ’Tis when the infinite ’neath the finite gropes That men are governed by their horoscopes.