18 
AMBERGRIS 
Remember him, but smite !  No workman hews 
His stone aright whose nerve arms refuse 
To ply the chisel, but are raised to ask 
A visionary foreman he may choose 
 
From the distortions of a sodden mind. 
God did first work on earth when womankind 
He chipped from Adam’s rib—a thankless task 
I wot his wisdom has long since repined. 
 
Christ touched the leper and the widow’s son ; 
And thou wouldst serve the work the Perfect One 
Began, by folding arms and gazing up 
To heaven, as if thy work were rightly done. 
 
I tell thee, he should say, if ye were met : 
“ Thou hadst a talent ”—ah, thou hast it yet 
Wrapped in a napkin !  thou shalt drain the cup 
Of that damnation that may not forget 
 
“ The wasted hours ! ”  Ah, bitter interest 
Of our youth’s capital forgotten zest 
In all the pleasures of o’erflowing life, 
Wine tasteless, tired the brain, and cold the breast ! 
 
Ah !  but if with it is one good deed wrought, 
One kind word spoken, one immortal thought 
Born in thee, all is paid :  the weary strife 
Grows victory.  “ Love is all and Death is nought ! ” 
 
Such an one wrote that work as I would meet, 
Lay my life’s burden at his silver feet, 
Have him give ear if I say Master.  Yea ! 
I know no heaven, no honour, half so sweet ! 
 
He passed before me on the wheel of Time, 
He who knows no Time—the intense sublime 
Master of all philosophy and play, 
Lord of all love and music and sweet rime.