Like us, the lightning-fires
Love to have scope and play;
The stream, like us, desires
An unimpeded way;
Like us, the Libyan wind delights to roam at large.
Streams will not curb their pride
The just man not to entomb,
Nor lightnings go aside
To give his virtues room;
Nor is that wind less rough which blows a good man's barge.
Nature, with equal mind,
Sees all her sons at play;
Sees man control the wind,
The wind sweep man away;
Allows the proudly riding and the foundering bark.
And, lastly, though of ours
No weakness spoil our lot,
Though the non-human powers
Of nature harm us not,
The ill deeds of other men make often our life dark.
What were the wise man's plan?
Through this sharp, toil-set life,
To fight as best he can,
And win what's won by strife.
But we an easier way to cheat our pains have found.
Scratched by a fall, with moans
As children of weak age
Lend life to the dumb stones
Whereon to vent their rage,
And bend their little fists, and rate the senseless ground;
