How shall I feel my spirit's fire?
How shall I feel my spirit's fire?
For the strength of man is an insect's strength
In the face of that mighty plain and river,
And the life of a man is a moment's length
To the life of the stream that will run for ever.
And life has grown dull on the station,
The boys are all silent and slow;
Their work is a daily vexation,
And sport is unknown to them now.
Kindly remove from off my face!
If a fool is about, p'raps it's you!
And soon one broke out: I can suffer
No longer the life of a slug;
The man that don't race is a duffer,
Let's have one more run for the mug.
No sign nor countersign have I,
Through many lands I roam
The whole world over far and wide,
To exiles all at Christmastide,
From those who love them tenderly
I bring a thought of home.
Thou shalt seek my side with a footstep swift;
In thee implanted
Is the love of Art and the greatest gift
That God has granted.
Not for the love of women toil we, we of the craft,
Not for the people's praise;
Only because our goddess made us her own and laughed,
Claiming us all our days,
Claiming our best endeavour -- body and heart and brain
Given with no reserve --
Niggard is she towards us, granting us little gain:
Still, we are proud to serve.
How doth my heart with anguish thrill!
What did he know of God's infinite Grace?
Elections then were sport, you bet!
Your hopes of love are fled,
'Twere better she should die!
Who in the world would have thought it?
Came to grief -- was it card or horse?
And the place was white!
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories