The Thread Of Life.

1.     The irresponsive silence of the land,     The irresponsive sounding of the sea,     Speak both one message of one sense to me: -     Aloof, aloof, we stand aloof, so stand     Thou too aloof bound with the flawless band     Of inner solitude; we bind not thee;     But who from thy self-chain shall set thee free?     What heart shall touch thy heart? what hand thy hand? -     And I am sometimes proud and sometimes meek,     And sometimes I remember days of old     When fellowship seemed not so far to seek     And all the world and I seemed much less cold,     And at the rainbow's foot lay surely gold,     And hope felt strong and life itself not weak.     2.     Thus am I mine own prison. Everything     Around me free and sunny and at ease:     Or if in shadow, in a shade of trees     Which the sun kisses, where the gay birds sing     And where all winds make various murmuring;     Where bees are found, with honey for the bees;     Where sounds are music, and where silences     Are music of an unlike fashioning.     Then gaze I at the merrymaking crew,     And smile a moment and a moment sigh     Thinking: Why can I not rejoice with you?     But soon I put the foolish fancy by:     I am not what I have nor what I do;     But what I was I am, I am even I.     3.     Therefore myself is that one only thing     I hold to use or waste, to keep or give;     My sole possession every day I live,     And still mine own despite Time's winnowing.     Ever mine own, while moons and seasons bring     From crudeness ripeness mellow and sanative;     Ever mine own, till Death shall ply his sieve;     And still mine own, when saints break grave and sing.     And this myself as king unto my King     I give, to Him Who gave Himself for me;     Who gives Himself to me, and bids me sing     A sweet new song of His redeemed set free;     He bids me sing: O death, where is thy sting?     And sing: O grave, where is thy victory?