THE CHOOSING

“Here is life,” I said to my heart; “Shall thou and I take part In his battle and busy mart? Shall we follow the voices that call From temple and workshop and hall: ‘Lo, brother, we bid thee come?’” “There is pleasure in palace and bower; There is gold for our winning, and power; And fame—for an idle hour A bauble to tempt the best. Shall we make us one with the rest, And attempt, and achieve—or fail?” But my heart, grown sudden wise, Looked out from steadfast eyes And said: “In myself it lies To be more than a tool for gain— Nay, Life, ye must bid again Ere I answer to your call.” “What say you of honor, O Life? Has it room in the bitter strife With which your service is rife? Is there room for a soul to be All the best it can feel and see; To unfold its wings and arise?” Then Life, with sphinx-like face, And smile wherein no trace Of answering had place; Said: “Take my gift, or leave it— But know they that receive it Can make it what they will.”