Sonnet.
Think not, hope not thine aim to reach ; there are1
Draughts too divine for man—e’en as he sips,2
Their sweetness turns to gall upon his lips.3
Aims reached are worthless. Let thine shine afar,4
As shines o’er night a great and tranquil star5
That grows in beauty as the night wears on.6
Thus over thee may thy bright star look down,7
Nor darkness nor yet cloud its pure light mar.8
Because it burns so high, feel not forlorn,9
Look up through this earth’s night of toil and strife ;10
Look up ! it is the purpose of thy life.11
Look up to Love, to Trust, to Faith—that look12
Is written down in God’s eternal book ;13
Look up until the coming of the Morn.14