'TO lead a life divine?'
This is the question which, with upward strife,
Earth to herself proposes, asking ever,
'How shall I lead this life?'

And in her infancy
From east and west according answer came,
Poet and priest the doctrine taught and bless'd,
'Divinity is Fame.'

In a more polish'd age,
'Poor toilsome fools, fair women, fairer wine,
Purple, fine linen, pictures, statues, gold,
Beauty is most divine.'

Long-bearded sages then
With still more scorn their own solution gave,--
'Thought is the only good to be desir'd,
Leave matter to the slave.'

God gave a helping word,
But Earth was blind, and would misread the sign,
Saying, 'It means deny, fast, scourge, and pray,--
The ascetic is divine.'
And now we, year by year,
Do painfully spell out our golden rule,
In woe for its neglect; the wisest men,
The little child at school,

Learning that wisdom, art,
Denying vow, world's honour, are but slaves to love,
Whose law encircles us with a command,
Ev'n as its pleadings move.

We are not free to choose,
But ever find our portions strictly meted
When we look purely for them, and a sign
Of blessing if completed:

Set in a narrow groove,
In our obedience alone made free
With freedom worth the purchase, and enjoin'd
To work it silently:

Which following
In meek surrender,--'Not my will but Thine'--
Is, in its aspect, fruit, and consciousness,
Indeed a Life Divine.