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CONSOLATION?

What consolation doth a brave man need
Who has lived oat a full and active life?
In living it he has received his meed
Of happiness, and so may rest from strife
Content that consciousness is his no more.
Life is at best a gift of doubtful good;
"Call no man happy till his life is o'er,"
One said who deeply felt and understood;
But for the mass whose lives are but a scene
Of endless care, misfortune, and distress,
Death cometh like a lovely and serene
Sun-setting after storm to calm and bless:
The happy by their happiness are paid,
Th' unhappy at the least their ills evade.

TO A DEVOTEE

Rise from your knees, sick-thoughted sufferer!
Prayer doth but serve to emasculate the soul,
To morbid thoughts holding it prisoner,
And sinking it in ever-deeper dole.
Mistrust of self is cowardice at best,
Prayer unavailing adds but to your pain:
'Tis active work, not passive prayer, makes blest,
Your sin's the figment of a brooding brain.
Stand up and be no more a suppliant slave:
Is God a Genghiz Khan or Tamerlane?
All nature thunders forth one precept brave—
Courage alone the prize of life shall gain.
Weakness above all else the fates despise,
The fearless-hearted only are the wise.

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