Poems (Jackson)/A Measure of Hours
A MEASURE OF HOURS.
NTO those two I called who holdIn hands omnipotent all livesOf men, and deal, like gods, such doledAlms as they list, to him who strivesAnd him who waits alike: "Oh! showMe but how measure ye one hourOf time, that I at least may knowIf I lift up this cross what powerI need; and what I win of blissIf I may dare to pay the cost—Whole cost, without which I must missThis joy, and feel my life lost."Then Joy spoke first, all breathless:An hour seems like eternity."Drink!My moments hold whole ages. ThinkNo price too great which buys for theeThis boundless bliss. Such hours as mineMock reckonings. The sands stand still.Drink quickly! I will give the signWhen it is over. Drink thy fill!"I had scarce tasted when, with faceAll changed and voice grown sharp, Joy cried:"Thine hour is past. Give place! Give place!New hearts impatiently abideThy going. Every man fills upHis own swift measure. Thou hadst thine.Who weakly drains the empty cupDrinks only bitter dregs of wine."
Then Sorrow whispered gently: "TakeThis burden up. Be not afraid.An hour is short. Thou scarce wilt wakeTo consciousness that I have laid My hand upon thee, when the hourShall all have passed, and, gladder thenFor the brief pain's uplifting power,Thou shalt but pity griefless men."
I grew by minutes changed and old,As men change not in many yearsOf happiness. Lifetimes untoldSeemed dragging lifeless by. My tearsRan slow for utter wearinessOf weeping; and, when token cameThe hour was done, I felt far lessOf joy than woe; as one whose nameIs called, when prison doors have swungOpen too late, reluctantlyGoes forth to find himself amongStrange faces, desolate, though free.
"O cruel brethren, Joy and Grief,"I cried, "with equal mockeryYour promises meet our belief,One blossom and one fruit will beYour harvest! But full well I knowThey are not harvest; only seedSown in our tears, from which shall growIn other soil harvest indeed,—
"Harvest in God's great gardens white,Where cool and living waters run,And where the spotless Lamb is light,Instead of pallid moon and sun; Where constant through the golden airThe tree of life sheds mystic leaf,Which angels to the nations bear,Healing alike their joy and grief."