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Man is the shadow of a changing world;
As the image of a tree
By the breeze swayed to and fro
On the grass, so changeth he;
Night and day are in his breast,
Winter and Summer, all the change
Of light and darkness, and the season's marching; —
Flowers that bud and fade,
Tides that rise and fall.
Even with the waxing and the waning moon
His being beats in tune;
The air that is his life
Inhales he with alternate heaving breath;
Joyous to him is effort, sweet is rest;
Life he hath and death.Then seek not thou too soon that permanence
Of changeless joy that suits unchanging gods,
In whom no tides of being ebb and flow.
Out of the flux and reflux of the world
Slowly man's soul doth gather to itself,
Atom by atom, the hard elements
Firm, incorruptible, indestructible,
Whereof when all his being is compact,
No more it wastes nor hungers, but endures
Needing not any food of changing things
But fit among like natured gods to live,
Amongst whom, entering too soon, he perishes,
Unable to endure their fervid gaze.
Think! yet thy being is but as a lake,
That, by the help of friendly streams unfed,
Full soon the sun drinks up.
Wait till thou hast sea-depths; —
Till the tides of life and deed
Of action and of meditation,
Of service unto others, and their love
Shall pour into the caverns of thy being
The might of their unconquerable floods:
Then canst thou bear the glow of eyes divine;
And like the sea beneath the sun at noon
Shalt shine in splendor inexhaustible.Therefore yield not unto these faery lures.
Not that way lies thine immortality:
But thou shalt find it in the ways of men
Where many a task remains for thee to do
And shall remain for many after thee
Till all the storm-winds of the world be bound.