Love is the crown that glorifies; the curse That brands and burdens; it is life and death It is the great law of the universe; And nothing can exist without its breath. Love is the impulse which directs the world, And all things know it and obey its power. Man, in the maelstrom of his passions whirled; The bee that takes the pollen to the flower. The earth, uplifting her bare, pulsing breast To fervent kisses of the amorous sun;-- Each but obeys creative Love’s behest, Which everywhere instinctively is done. Love is the only thing that pays for birth, Or makes death welcome. Oh, dear God above This beautiful but sad, perplexing earth, Pity the hearts that know--or know not--Love! CONSTANCY. I will be true. Mad stars forsake their courses, And led by reckless meteors, turn away From paths appointed by Eternal Forces; But my fixed heart shall never go astray. Like those calm worlds whose sun-directed motion Is undisturbed by strife of wind or sea, So shall my swerveless and serene devotion Sweep on forever, loyal unto thee. I will be true. The fickle tide, divided Between two wooing shores, in wild unrest May to and fro shift always undecided; Not so the tide of Passion in my breast. With the grand surge of some resistless river, That hurries on, past mountain, vale, and sea, Unto the main, its waters to deliver, So my full heart keeps all its wealth for thee. I will be true. Light barques may be belated, Or turned aside by every breeze at play, While sturdy ships, well-manned and richly freighted, With fair sales flying, anchor safe in Bay, Like some firm rock, that, steadfast and unshaken, Stands all unmoved when ebbing billows flee, So would my heart stand, faithful if forsaken-- I will be true, though thou art false to me. PHILOSOPHICAL. RESOLVE. As the dead year is clasped by a dead December, So let your dead sins with your dead days lie. A new life is yours, and a new hope. Remember, We build our own ladders to climb to the sky. Stand out in the sunlight of Promise, forgetting Whatever the Past held of sorrow or wrong. We waste half our strength in a useless regretting; We sit by old tombs in the dark too long. Have you missed in your aim? Well, the mark is still shining. Did you faint in the race? Well, take breath for the next. Did the clouds drive you back? But see yonder their lining. Were you tempted and fell? Let it serve for a text. As each year hurries by let it join that procession Of skeleton shapes that march down to the Past, While you take your place in the line of Progression, With your eyes on the heavens, your face to the blast.