On a Grey Thread/Life's Leaders
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Life's Leaders
Their clouded wine, their whited bread,
We cannot take and call it good;
Yet sorrier fare Life grudges us
Who have no taste for common food.
We cannot take and call it good;
Yet sorrier fare Life grudges us
Who have no taste for common food.
We must go hungry long life through,
Aching and hungry to the end;
Betrayed by pity into chains
Reason tries vainly to transcend.
Aching and hungry to the end;
Betrayed by pity into chains
Reason tries vainly to transcend.
Are we not sadly prodigal?
We spend ourselves without restraint;
Yea, we let Beauty break our hearts
And bleed for love until we faint.
We spend ourselves without restraint;
Yea, we let Beauty break our hearts
And bleed for love until we faint.
Yet it is not the thorns, the shame,
Not the hurt body's weak distress:
Our bitterest crucifixion lies
In man's abject unworthiness.
Not the hurt body's weak distress:
Our bitterest crucifixion lies
In man's abject unworthiness.
From Life's rough cloth and flying threads,
From dust, from passion, dreams and pain,
From the dear madness men call love,
From faith that lies beyond the brain,
From dust, from passion, dreams and pain,
From the dear madness men call love,
From faith that lies beyond the brain,
We shape the only deathless soul
That mortal man will ever know.
Behold his gratitude, these stones.
They say 't is by the heart we grow.
That mortal man will ever know.
Behold his gratitude, these stones.
They say 't is by the heart we grow.
Still we build quietly and wait.
The heart may break; the heart is frail;
But a stern, strange ecstasy
Befriends us; and we dare not fail.
The heart may break; the heart is frail;
But a stern, strange ecstasy
Befriends us; and we dare not fail.
The Hand that points the solemn way
May be a wanton hand at best;
The great Word echoing in our souls
May be a bored God's casual jest.
May be a wanton hand at best;
The great Word echoing in our souls
May be a bored God's casual jest.
We cannot guess. We only know
'T is written by some awful Pen
We must be torches sacrificed
To light the way for lesser men.
'T is written by some awful Pen
We must be torches sacrificed
To light the way for lesser men.