  By HELEN G. HAWTHORNE. Soul of mine, Would’st thou choose for life a motto half divine? Let this be thy guard and guide Through the future, reaching wide; Whether good or ill betide, Rise higher! From the mire Where the masses blindly grovel, rise higher! From the slavish love of gold, From the justice bought and sold, From the narrow rules of old, Rise higher! Art thou vexed By the rasping world around thee, and perplexed By the sin and sorrow rife, By the falsehood and the strife? To a larger, grander life Rise higher! If thou findest That the friends thy heart had counted truest, kindest, Have betrayed thee, why should’st thou Wear for this a frowning brow? Leave their falsehood far behind; Rise higher! Let each care Lift thee upward to a higher, purer air; Then let Fortune do her worst; Whether Fate has blessed or cursed; Little matter, if thou first Rise higher! And at last, When thy sorrows and temptations all are past, And the grand Death Angel brings Summons from the King of Kings, Thou shalt still, on angels’ wings Rise higher. decorative line I have a friend who wishes me to see that to be right which I know to be wrong. But if friendship is to rob me of my eyes, if it is to darken the day, I will have none of it. It should be expansive and inconceivably liberalizing in its effects. True friendship can afford true knowledge. It does not depend on darkness and ignorance.—Thoreau. decorative line |
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