PREPARATIONWe must not force events, but rather makeThe heart soil ready for their coming, asThe earth spreads carpets for the feet of Spring,Or, with the strengthening tonic of the frost,Prepares for winter. Should a July noonBurst suddenly upon a frozen worldSmall joy would follow, even though that worldWere longing for the Summer. Should the stingOf sharp December pierce the heart of June,What death and devastation would ensue!All things are planned. The most majestic sphereThat whirls through space is governed and controlledBy supreme law, as is the blade of grassWhich through the bursting bosom of the earthCreeps up to kiss the light. Poor, puny manAlone doth strive and battle with the ForceWhich rules all lives and worlds, and he aloneDemands effect before producing cause.How vain the hope! We cannot harvest joyUntil we sow the seed, and God aloneKnows when that seed has ripened. Oft we standAnd watch the ground with anxious, brooding eyes,Complaining of the slow, unfruitful yield,Not knowing that the shadow of ourselvesKeeps off the sunlight and delays result.Sometimes our fierce impatience of desireDoth like a sultry May force tender shootsOf half-formed pleasures and unshaped eventsTo ripen prematurely, and we reapBut disappointment; or we rot the germsWith briny tears ere they have time to grow.While stars are born and mighty planets dieAnd hissing comets scorch the brow of space,The Universe keeps its eternal calm.Through patient preparation, year on year,The earth endures the travail of the SpringAnd Winter’s desolation. So our soulsIn grand submission to a higher lawShould move serene through all the ills of lifeBelieving them masked joys.
We must not force events, but rather makeThe heart soil ready for their coming, asThe earth spreads carpets for the feet of Spring,Or, with the strengthening tonic of the frost,Prepares for winter. Should a July noonBurst suddenly upon a frozen worldSmall joy would follow, even though that worldWere longing for the Summer. Should the stingOf sharp December pierce the heart of June,What death and devastation would ensue!All things are planned. The most majestic sphereThat whirls through space is governed and controlledBy supreme law, as is the blade of grassWhich through the bursting bosom of the earthCreeps up to kiss the light. Poor, puny manAlone doth strive and battle with the ForceWhich rules all lives and worlds, and he aloneDemands effect before producing cause.How vain the hope! We cannot harvest joyUntil we sow the seed, and God aloneKnows when that seed has ripened. Oft we standAnd watch the ground with anxious, brooding eyes,Complaining of the slow, unfruitful yield,Not knowing that the shadow of ourselvesKeeps off the sunlight and delays result.Sometimes our fierce impatience of desireDoth like a sultry May force tender shootsOf half-formed pleasures and unshaped eventsTo ripen prematurely, and we reapBut disappointment; or we rot the germsWith briny tears ere they have time to grow.While stars are born and mighty planets dieAnd hissing comets scorch the brow of space,The Universe keeps its eternal calm.Through patient preparation, year on year,The earth endures the travail of the SpringAnd Winter’s desolation. So our soulsIn grand submission to a higher lawShould move serene through all the ills of lifeBelieving them masked joys.