St. Clair Adams.

PROSPICE

Here the poet looks forward to death.  He does not ask for an easy death; he does not wish to creep past an experience which all men sooner or later must face, and which many men have faced so heroically.  He has fought well in life; he wishes to make the last fight too.  The poem was written shortly after the death of Mrs. Browning, and the closing lines refer to her.

  Fear death?—­to feel the fog in my throat,
    The mist in my face,
  When the snows begin, and the blasts denote
    I am nearing the place,
  The power of the night, the press of the storm,
    The post of the foe;
  Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form,
    Yet the strong man must go: 
  For the journey is done and the summit attained,
    And the barriers fall,
  Though a battle’s to fight ere the guerdon be gained,
    The reward of it all. 
  I was ever a fighter, so—­one fight more,
    The best and the last! 
  I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore. 
    And bade me creep past. 
  No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers
    The heroes of old,
  Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life’s arrears
    Of pain, darkness and cold. 
  For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave,
    The black minute’s at end,
  And the elements’ rage, the fiend-voices that rave,
    Shall dwindle, shall blend,
  Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain,
    Then a light, then thy breast,
  O thou soul of my soul!  I shall clasp thee again,
    And with God be the rest!

Robert Browning.

THE GREATNESS OF THE SOUL

Geologists tell us that in the long processes of the ages mountains have been raised and leveled, continents formed and washed away.  Astronomers tell us that in space are countless worlds, many of them doubtless inhabited—­perhaps by creatures of a lower type than we, perhaps by creatures of a higher.  The magnitude of these changes and of these worlds makes the imagination reel.  But on one thing we can rely—­the greatness of the human soul.  On one thing we can confidently build—­the men whose spirit is lofty, divine.

  For tho’ the Giant Ages heave the hill
  And break the shore, and evermore
  Make and break, and work their will;
  Tho’ world on world in myriad myriads roll
  Round us, each with different powers,
  And other forms of life than ours,
  What know we greater than the soul? 
  On God and Godlike men we build our trust.

  Alfred Tennyson.

HEINELET

What sheer perseverance can accomplish, even in matters of the heart, is revealed in this little poem written in Heine’s mood of mingled seriousness and gayety.