Living

To toil all day and lie worn-out at night; To rise for all the years to slave and sleep, And breed new broods to do no other thing In toiling, bearing, breeding -- life is this To myriad men, too base for man or brute. To serve for common duty, while the brain Is hot with high desire to be distinct; To fill the sand-grain place among the stones That build the social wall in million sameness, Is life by leave, and death by insignificance. To live the morbid years, with dripping blood Of sacrificial labor for a Thought; To take the dearest hope and lay it down Beneath the crushing wheels for love of Freedom; To bear the sordid jeers of cant and trade, And go on hewing for a far ideal, -- This were a life worth giving to a cause, If cause be found so worth a martyr life. But highest life of man, nor work nor sacrifice, But utter seeing of the things that be! To pass amid the hurrying crowds, and watch The hungry race for things of vulgar use; To mark the growth of baser lines in men; To note the bending to a servile rule; To know the natural discord called disease That rots like rust the blood and souls of men; To test the wisdoms and philosophies by touch Of that which is immutable, being clear, The beam God opens to the poet's brain; To see with eyes of pity laboring souls Strive upward to the Freedom and the Truth, And still be backward dragged by fear and ignorance; To see the beauty of the world, and hear The rising harmony of growth, whose shade Of undertone is harmonized decay; To know that love is life -- that blood is one And rushes to the union -- that the heart Is like a cup athirst for wine of love; Who sees and feels this meaning utterly, The wrong of law, the right of man, the natural truth. Partaking not of selfish aims, withholding not The word that strengthens and the hand that helps: Who waits and sympathizes with the pettiest life, And loves all things, and reaches up to God With thanks and blessing -- He alone is living.