Ambergris

114 AMBERGRIS Is fit for children. We are too well ware How vain is prayer, How nought is great, since all is immanent, The vast content Of all the universe unalterable. We know too well How no one thing abides awhile at all, How things fall, Fall from their seat, the lamentable place, Before their face, Weary and pass and are no more. So we, Since hope must be, Look to the future, to the chance minute That life may shoot Some flower at least to blossom in the night, Since vital light Is sure to fail us on the hideous way. What ? Must we pray ? Verily, O thou littlest babe, too weak To stir or speak, Capable hardly of a thought, yet seed Of word and deed ? To thine assured fruition we may trust This weary dust. We who are old, and palsied, (and so wise !) Lift up our eyes To little children, as the storm-tossed bark Hails in the dark Some hardly visible harbour light ; we hold The hours of gold To our own breasts, whose hours are iron and brass :— So swift they pass And grind us down : we hold the wondrous light Our scattering sight Yet sees, the one star in a night of woe. We trust, and so Lift up our voices in the dying day Indeed to pray : “ O little hands that are so soft and strong,” “ Lead us along ! ”