This soul to me: "The seething sea,
Tossing hungry under me,
I fear to trust; the ships I fear;
I see no isle of beauty near;
The sun is blotted out—no more
'Twill shine for me on any shore."
Once more I said: "Be not afraid;
Yield to the storm without a dread;
For the tree, by tempests torn
From its native soil, is borne
Green, to where its ripened fruit
Gives a sturdy forest root.
"That which we lose, we think we choose,
Oft, from slavery to use.
Shocks that break our chains, tho' rude,
Open paths to highest good:
Wise, my sister soul, is she
Who takes of life the proffered key."
LOVE.
Love robs the "dread unknown" of any dread;
"We live in deeds, not years, not years," the poet said;
And loving deeds in widening cycles move
Until they climb to God, the fount of love.
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