To An Astrologer

Nay, seer, I do not doubt thy mystic lore,     Nor question that the tenor of my life,     Past, present and the future, is revealed     There in my horoscope. I do believe     That yon dead moon compels the haughty seas     To ebb and flow, and that my natal star     Stands like a stern-browed sentinel in space     And challenges events; nor lets one grief,     Or joy, or failure, or success, pass on     To mar or bless my earthly lot, until     It proves its Karmic right to come to me.     All this I grant, but more than this I know!     Before the solar systems were conceived,     When nothing was but the unnamable,     My spirit lived, an atom of the Cause.     Through countless ages and in many forms     It has existed, ere it entered in     This human frame to serve its little day     Upon the earth. The deathless Me of me,     The spark from that great all-creative fire     Is part of that eternal source called God,     And mightier than the universe.          Why, he     Who knows, and knowing, never once forgets     The pedigree divine of his own soul,     Can conquer, shape and govern destiny     And use vast space as 'twere a board for chess     With stars for pawns; can change his horoscope     To suit his will; turn failure to success,     And from preordained sorrows, harvest joy.     There is no puny planet, sun or moon,     Or zodiacal sign which can control     The God in us! If we bring that to bear     Upon events, we mold them to our wish,     'Tis when the infinite 'neath the finite gropes     That men are governed by their horoscopes.