Davis MatlockSuppose it is nothing but the hive:That there are drones and workersAnd queens, and nothing but storing honey—(Material things as well as culture and wisdom)—For the next generation, this generation never living,Except as it swarms in the sun-light of youth,Strengthening its wings on what has been gathered,And tasting, on the way to the hiveFrom the clover field, the delicate spoil.Suppose all this, and suppose the truth:That the nature of man is greaterThan nature’s need in the hive;And you must bear the burden of life,As well as the urge from your spirit’s excess—Well, I say to live it out like a godSure of immortal life, though you are in doubt,Is the way to live it.If that doesn’t make God proud of youThen God is nothing but gravitationOr sleep is the golden goal.
Suppose it is nothing but the hive:That there are drones and workersAnd queens, and nothing but storing honey—(Material things as well as culture and wisdom)—For the next generation, this generation never living,Except as it swarms in the sun-light of youth,Strengthening its wings on what has been gathered,And tasting, on the way to the hiveFrom the clover field, the delicate spoil.Suppose all this, and suppose the truth:That the nature of man is greaterThan nature’s need in the hive;And you must bear the burden of life,As well as the urge from your spirit’s excess—Well, I say to live it out like a godSure of immortal life, though you are in doubt,Is the way to live it.If that doesn’t make God proud of youThen God is nothing but gravitationOr sleep is the golden goal.