Self-Discipline
WHEN the soul sought refuge in the place of rest,
Overborne by strife and pain beyond control,
From some secret hollow, whisper soft-confessed,
Came the legend of the soul.
Some bright one of old time laid his sceptre down
So his heart might learn of sweet and bitter truth;
Going forth bereft of beauty, throne, and crown,
And the sweetness of his youth.
So the old appeal and fierce revolt we make
Through the world’s hour dies within our primal will;
And we justify the pain and hearts that break,
And our lofty doom fulfil.
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