“AYE, and the race is just begun,
The world is all before me now,
The sun is in the eastern sky
And long the shadows westward lie;
In everything that meets my eye
A splendor and a joy I mind
A glory that is undesigned.”
Ah! youth attempt that path with care,
The shadow of the cross is there. “I’ve time,” he said, “to rest awhile,
And sip the fragrant wine of life,
My lute to pleasure’s halls I’ll bring
And while the sun ascends I’ll sing,
And all my world without shall ring
Like merry chiming bells that peal
Not half the rapture that they feel.”
Alas! he found but tangled moss,
Above the shadow of the cross. He turned him to the world to gain
In traffic that would give him power;
Amid its heat—amid its dust
He let his soul’s fine fibers rust,
And piled together crust on crust.
Narrowed within; but all outside,
His stretch of earth was amplified,
He rested—look’d, their charm had fled,
And left a shadow’d cross instead. “Mine be the warrior’s fame,” he cried,
“My soul is ready for the strife;”
He buckled on his armor bright,
And in the fiercest of the fight,
He won the laurels of a knight.
Men envied him and women praised;
And for a day like Sirius blazed
His star—then unto ashes waned;
And but a shadowed cross remained. He turned away—when at his side,
The real cross an angel bore,
And in its shadows rich he found,
A rest supreme—a peace profound,
And all was light and love around;
And now no longer in his way
That shadow’d cross before him lay;
“Thy will not mine,” alone maintained,
The world was crucified—heaven was gain’d.