Not he who lays it on the shelf, But he who spends his talent saves it; He gives indeed who gives himself, And best or worst is his who craves it. A thousand wish our work success; One brings us cheer because he speaks it; A common thing is happiness; He only never finds who seeks it. The atom with the supreme sun Of Nature's plan was made partaker; Alike has each his course to run, And show the wisdom of its Maker. The steady seasons come and go; The constant needle strangely falters; The moon-drawn sea sways to and fro; Opinions change: truth never alters. We may resist our foe's assaults, His sneers that sting, his blows that batter; Correction of our daily faults We find another, harder matter. Self has no claims when duty calls; Our destinies receive our shaping: Escape we may from prison walls, But from ourselves there's no escaping. The cruel conquests of the sword Bring fleeting fame that soldiers sigh for; The cheering smile and winning word Bring love that thousands pine and die for. An accident, a lucky star Might lead us to the abbey's niches; Not what we have, but what we are Is the imperishable riches. Is there a course we should pursue? Through ruin's realm we must pursue it. Is there a work for us to do? Though death confront us we must do it. Not how to die, but how to live, Demands our care and best endeavor; For character its light will give When sun and stars are quenched forever. |