Poems (Rumell)/The garment of life
THE GARMENT OF LIFE
I shall liken this life, to a garment,The long weaving, of which is begunAt the child's earliest conscious moment,And sometimes,-before it is born!
For too oft, in a thought prenatal,Lies error's seed of greed and hate:-Which they find to the child proves fatal-Only perhaps, when it is too late!
The first silken threads of life's garmentAre woven of mother's smiles and tears;Blended well, with sound and sunshine,And mayhap, many childish fears!
Comes the bright colored threads of playday,Just woven, hit or miss, as it were.But oh the great joy of that May day,Viewed, now, from the place where we are!
Then the many hued, wonderful schooldays,Are woven into life's beautiful scheme.From which, the pattern, in many true ways,Shows forth in our life's after Theme!
Those bright colored threads of our schooldaysMake the weave of this fabric, coarse or fine!Have you thought, how many hands, in one life maze,Work on the pattern, of this Garment Divine?
We start life, as a small piece of drift wood,That touches many different banks as it goes,It whirls, ebbs, is lifted, gathering bad or good,But it must go, as the currant flows!
Then-the multi-colored threads of Ambition!Oh! thou Goddess of strength to all men!What strong soul, that, of it's own volition,Hath not kneeled and prayed at thy Shrine!
Ah! those golden threads of Youth's love time,We find them, woven into each garment of life:And their griefs, even more than those of our prime,Have the keen power to cut like a knife.
Then, those sweet solemn threads, the marriage troth,Makes the fit of life's Garment, seem secure!-But these threads of life, must be of true love,If this portion of the garment shall endure!
Woven, in this wonderful part, of life's garment,Are many tiny thought fragments, of prayer:Like flowers, blooming unseen, of sweet scent,They are destined, never to breath the air.
Tho' unheard, unseen, by the multitude,Unsuspected, sometimes, in the strife;These thot prayers, are the source of your fortitude,The very Essence, in your self, of Life!
Ah! here, is a thread,-so fine and silken,Just a tiny wee, gossamer strand,That speaks of night watches, when you waken,To the sweet touch of a baby's hand!
Here, is the wonderful thread of friendships,That reflects the moon's ray, silver white!Many noble patterns, in its ceaseless trips,Friendship's thread, in our garment brings to light!
So,-as we are weaving life's garment,The pattern, stands out, clear and bold;And according to it's form and beauty,Man's innermost thoughts are told.
And as we work on this wonderful garmentWith the shuttle of the hours running fast,Of cur-selves, we weave joy or torment,And we view our own hand work at last!
Can we display this garment in triumph,That we have woven, while here on this plane,As we march up the last Hill:-or defiant,Shall we seek to hide, in our garment of shame?