seers who are sad,
For he is most wise in all ages
   Who knows how to be glad.

I lift up my eyes to Apollo,
   The god of the beautiful days,
And my spirit soars off like a swallow,
   And is lost in the light of its rays.
Are you troubled and sad?  I beseech you
   Come out of the shadows of strife—
Come out in the sun while I teach you
   The secret of life.

Come out of the world—come above it—
   Up over its crosses and graves,
Though the green earth is fair and I love it,
   We must love it as masters, not slaves.
Come up where the dust never rises—
   But only the perfume of flowers—
And your life shall be glad with surprises
   Of beautiful hours.
Come up where the rare golden wine is
   Apollo distills in my sight,
And your life shall be happy as mine is,
   And as full of delight.

PRAYER

I do not undertake to say
   That literal answers come from Heaven,
But I know this—that when I pray
   A comfort, a support is given
That helps me rise o’er earthly things
As larks soar up on airy wings.

In vain the wise philosopher
   Points out to me my fabric’s flaws,
In vain the scientists aver
   That “all things are controlled by laws.”
My life has taught me day by day
That it availeth much to pray.

I do not stop to reason out
   The why and how.  I do not care,
Since I know this, that when I doubt,
   Life seems a blackness of despair,
The world a tomb; and when I trust,
Sweet blossoms spring up in the dust.

Since I know in the darkest hour,
   If I lift up my soul in prayer,
Some sympathetic, loving Power
   Sends hope and comfort to me there.
Since balm is sent to ease my pain,
What need to argue or explain?

Prayer has a sweet, refining grace,
   It educates the soul and heart.
It lends a lustre to the face,
   And by its elevating art
It gives the mind an inner sight
That brings it near the Infinite.

From our gross selves it helps us rise
   To something which we yet may be.
And so I ask not to be wise,
   If thus my faith is lost to me.
Faith, that with angel’s voice and touch
Says, “Pray, for prayer availeth much.”

IN THE LONG RUN

In the long run fame finds the deserving man.
   The lucky wight may prosper for a day,
But in good time true merit leads the van
   And vain pretence, unnoticed, goes its way.
There is no Chance, no Destiny, no Fate,
But Fortune smiles on those who work and wait,
      In the long run.

In the long run all godly sorrow pays,
   There is no better thing than righteous pain,
The sleepless nights, the awful thorn-crowned days,
   Bring sure reward to tortured soul and brain.
Unmeaning joys enervate in the end,
But sorrow yields a glorious dividend
      In the long run.

In the long run all hidden things are known,
   The eye of truth will penetrate the night,
And good or ill, thy secret shall be known,
   However well ’tis guarded from the light.
All the unspoken motives of the breast
Are fathomed by the years and stand confess’d
      In the long run.

In the long run all love is paid by love,
   Though undervalued by the hosts of earth;
The great eternal Government above
   Keeps strict account and will redeem its worth.
Give thy love freely; do not count the cost;
So beautiful a thing was never lost
      In the long run.

AS YOU GO THROUGH LIFE

Don’t look for the flaws as you go through life;
   And even when you find them,
It is wise and kind to be somewhat blind,
   And look for the virtue behind them;
For the cloudiest night has a hint of light
   Somewhere in its shadows hiding;
It’s better by far to hunt for a star,
   Than the spots on the sun abiding.

The current of life runs ever away
   To the bosom of God’s great ocean.
Don’t set your force ’gainst the river’s course,
   And think to alter its motion.
Don’t waste a curse on the universe,
   Remember, it lived before you;
Don’t butt at the storm with your puny form,
   But bend and let it go o’er you.

The world will never adjust itself
   To suit your whims to the letter,
Some things must go wrong your whole life long,
   And the sooner you know it the better.
It is folly to fight with the Infinite,
   And go under at last in the wrestle.
The wiser man shapes into God’s plan,
   As water shapes into a vessel.

TWO SUNSETS

In the fair morning of his life,
   When his pure heart lay in his breast,
   Panting, with all that wild unrest
To plunge into the great world’s strife

That fills young hearts with mad desire,
   He saw a sunset.  Red and gold
   The burning billows surged and rolled,
And upward tossed their caps of fire.

He looked.  And as he looked, the sight
   Sent from his soul through breast and brain
   Such intense joy, it hurt like pain.
His heart seemed bursting with delight.

So near the Unknown seemed, so close
   He might have grasped it with his hands
   He felt his inmost soul expand,
As sunlight will expand a rose

One day he heard a singing strain—
   A human voice, in bird-like trills.
   He paused, and little rapture-rills
Went trickling downward through each vein.

And in his heart the whole day long,
   As in a temple veiled and dim,
   He kept and bore about with him
The beauty of that singer’s song.

And then?  But why relate what then?
   His smouldering heart flamed into fire—
   He had his one supreme desire,
And plunged into the world of men.

For years queen Folly held her sway.
   With pleasures of the grosser kind
   She fed his flesh and drugged his mind,
Till, shamed, he sated, turned away.

He sought his boyhood’s home.
   That hour Triumphant should have been, in sooth,
   Since he went forth, an unknown youth,
And came back crowned with wealth and power.

The clouds made day a gorgeous bed;
   He saw the splendour of the sky
   With unmoved heart and stolid eye;
He only knew the West was red.

Then suddenly a fresh young voice
   Rose, bird-like, from some hidden place,
   He did not even turn his face—
It struck him