HIGH NOONTime’s finger on the dial of my lifePoints to high noon! and yet the half-spent dayLeaves less than half remaining, for the dark,Bleak shadows of the grave engulf the end.To those who burn the candle to the stick,The sputtering socket yields but little light.Long life is sadder than an early death.We cannot count on ravelled threads of ageWhereof to weave a fabric. We must useThe warp and woof the ready present yieldsAnd toil while daylight lasts. When I bethinkHow brief the past, the future, still more briefCalls on to action, action! Not for meIs time for retrospection or for dreams,Not time for self-laudation or remorse.Have I done nobly? Then I must not letDead yesterday unborn to-morrow shame.Have I done wrong? Well, let the bitter tasteOf fruit that turned to ashes on my lipBe my reminder in temptation’s hour,And keep me silent when I would condemn.Sometimes it takes the acid of a sinTo cleanse the clouded windows of our soulsSo pity may shine through them.Looking back,My faults and errors seem like stepping-stonesThat led the way to knowledge of the truthAnd made me value virtue; sorrows shineIn rainbow colours o’er the gulf of years,Where lie forgotten pleasures.Looking forth,Out to the western sky still bright with noon,I feel well spurred and booted for the strifeThat ends not till Nirvana is attained.Battling with fate, with men, and with myself,Up the steep summit of my life’s forenoon,Three things I learned, three things of precious worth,To guide and help me down the western slope.I have learned how to pray, and toil, and save:To pray for courage to receive what comes,Knowing what comes to be divinely sent;To toil for universal good, since thusAnd only thus can good come unto me;To save, by giving whatsoe’er I haveTo those who have not—this alone is gain.
Time’s finger on the dial of my lifePoints to high noon! and yet the half-spent dayLeaves less than half remaining, for the dark,Bleak shadows of the grave engulf the end.To those who burn the candle to the stick,The sputtering socket yields but little light.Long life is sadder than an early death.We cannot count on ravelled threads of ageWhereof to weave a fabric. We must useThe warp and woof the ready present yieldsAnd toil while daylight lasts. When I bethinkHow brief the past, the future, still more briefCalls on to action, action! Not for meIs time for retrospection or for dreams,Not time for self-laudation or remorse.Have I done nobly? Then I must not letDead yesterday unborn to-morrow shame.Have I done wrong? Well, let the bitter tasteOf fruit that turned to ashes on my lipBe my reminder in temptation’s hour,And keep me silent when I would condemn.Sometimes it takes the acid of a sinTo cleanse the clouded windows of our soulsSo pity may shine through them.
Looking back,My faults and errors seem like stepping-stonesThat led the way to knowledge of the truthAnd made me value virtue; sorrows shineIn rainbow colours o’er the gulf of years,Where lie forgotten pleasures.
Looking forth,Out to the western sky still bright with noon,I feel well spurred and booted for the strifeThat ends not till Nirvana is attained.
Battling with fate, with men, and with myself,Up the steep summit of my life’s forenoon,Three things I learned, three things of precious worth,To guide and help me down the western slope.I have learned how to pray, and toil, and save:To pray for courage to receive what comes,Knowing what comes to be divinely sent;To toil for universal good, since thusAnd only thus can good come unto me;To save, by giving whatsoe’er I haveTo those who have not—this alone is gain.