Summoned by a supreme and confident power That wakes our sleeping courage like a blow, We rise, half-shaken, to the challenging hour, And answer it -- and go. The Breaking. [Margaret Steele Anderson] (The Lord God speaks to a youth) Bend now thy body to the common weight! (But oh, that vine-clad head, those limbs of morn! Those proud young shoulders I myself made straight! How shall ye wear the yoke that must be worn?) Look thou, my son, what wisdom comes to thee! (But oh, that singing mouth, those radiant eyes! Those dancing feet -- that I myself made free! How shall I sadden them to make them wise?) Nay then, thou shalt! Resist not, have a care! (Yea, I must work my plans who sovereign sit! Yet do not tremble so! I cannot bear -- Though I am God -- to see thee so submit!) The Falconer of God. [William Rose Benet] I flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying. I said, "Wait on, wait on, while I ride below! I shall start a heron soon In the marsh beneath the moon -- A strange white heron rising with silver on its wings, Rising and crying Wordless, wondrous things; The secret of the stars, of the world's heart-strings, The answer to their woe. Then stoop thou upon him, and grip and hold him so!" My wild soul waited on as falcons hover. I beat the reedy fens as I trampled past. I heard the mournful loon In the marsh beneath the moon. And then -- with feathery thunder -- the bird of my desire Broke from the cover Flashing silver fire. High up among the stars I saw his pinions spire. The pale clouds gazed aghast As my falcon stoopt upon him, and gript and held him fast. My soul dropt through the air -- with heavenly plunder? -- Gripping the dazzling bird my dreaming knew? Nay! but a piteous freight, A dark and heavy weight Despoiled of silver plumage, its voice forever stilled, -- All of the wonder Gone that ever filled Its guise with glory. Oh, bird that I have killed, How brilliantly you flew Across my rapturous vision when first I dreamed of you! Yet I fling my soul on high with new endeavor, And I ride the world below with a joyful mind. ~I shall start a heron soon In the marsh beneath the moon -- A wondrous silver heron its inner darkness fledges!~ I beat forever The fens and the sedges. The pledge is still the same -- for all disastrous pledges, All hopes resigned! My soul still flies above me for the quarry it shall find. Dilemma. [Orrick Johns] What though the moon should come With a blinding glow, And the stars have a game On the wood's edge, A man would have to still Cut and weed and sow, And lay a white line When he plants a hedge. What though God With a great sound of rain Came to talk of violets And things people do, I would have to labor And dig with my brain Still to get a truth Out of all words new.