Poems (Gould, 1833)/The Choice of a Prize
THE CHOICE OF A PRIZE.
Thou, who may'st not have fixed upon the prizeFor which on life's arena thou wilt strive,Come to the tomb, and, as its doors unfoldTo give admittance to the weary guests,Who fast are gathering at the destined goal,Cast in thy glance, and ask the inmates hereWhat's worth the winning! Is it Beauty's palmThat shall enkindle thy supreme desire?'T is here a withered thing, thrown by, forgot!On Beauty's features, see, her sister feedsNot with the better zest, that they were onceBright with the rose and lily, and the lightOf an immortal spark! Is Power thine aim?The phantom! how it vanishes from sight!Here lies the head, that nodded kingdoms down;The hand that moved, and nations felt the shock!Bid them but lift themselves, and they will proveThe date, the worth of power! Does Pleasure holdHer sweet allurements out for thy pursuit?Beware! beware! see on this new-cut stoneThe name of him who lived not half his days!He swam in Pleasure's sea, and was ingulphedBy giddy whirlpool, ere his sun had gainedIts mid-day height! Hast thou a steady eyeTo Honor, Splendor, Glory, Fame, or Gold,As an attainment worth the toil of life,The mortal race? The mighty levellerAdmits of no distinction where he reigns,Save, 'twixt himself and those beneath his throne.Honor!—Oh, how it dwindles into nought!None shrinks aside to yield the highest placeTo him, who cometh where the sleepers are!Splendor!—The covering of the vassal's couchIs bright as his, whose fitful, guilty dreamWas under silken drapery! Lord and slave,In death's calm fellowship, sleep side by side.Glory!—The damps and shadows of the gravePut out the brightest halo earth can light:Fame!—Can her trump delight this slumberer;Or pour in sweetness to his heavy ear?Her loudest blast is passing, empty airTo him, who here retires to lay him down,Crushing the laurels he has proudly worn!Gold!—Is the miser clenching here the keyTo wealth, for which he sold the key of Heaven?His gold is strewn, as dust upon the wind,Though he, who bought it with eternal life,Hugged it until he felt his soul required,And earth, withdrawing, leave him to the wavesThat take the dross, which never shall consume!Shall aught of these invite thee? "Oh! no! no!Beauty—may that of holiness be mine! May power be given me to o'ercome the world!For pleasure, may I have a hand to pourThe oil and wine upon another's wound!For honor, may I bear my Savior's cross;For splendor, light that from his follower beams;And be my glory his approving smile.My fame, the world's reproaches for his sake;My wealth, a conscience where no rust corrodes—One that may look into a coming world,As nature shall dissolve, and feel secure!With these to aid me in the mortal strife,May I the palm of victory o'er the graveMake my immortal prize!