Gargoyles

The nameless fear for self, far hurled By death to dissolution vile, Fades as the royal truth is known: Though change and sorrow range and roll, There is no self—there is no soul! XII. As man, a primate risen high Above his fellows, work thou well! As man, an incident minute And dim in time’s eternity, Work well! As man, no toy for hell And heaven to wrangle for, be mute! Let empty speculation stir The idle fool, the craven cur! XIII. Myself being idle for an hour I dare one thing to speculate: Namely, that life hath cusps yet higher On this our curve: a prize, a power Lies in our grasp: unthinking Fate Shall build a brain to nestle nigher 10