The Surviving Thought Poem by David James Scott

How long, ah me! this weary heart hath striven
With vanity, and with a wild desire!
How long, and yet how long, must this frail bark be driven,
While these unsteady, fitful hope-lights given,
One after one expire?

These earthly visions prove, alas! unstable;
And we are all too prone to clutch them fast,
Though false, aye, falser than the veriest fable,
To which a 'thread of gossamer is cable-'
They cannot-cannot last!

Our eye must soon behold the appalling writing-
The settlement of proud Belshazzar's doom!
These timely buds must early feel a blighting-
This earthly strife-ah, 'tis a sorry fighting!
The victory-the Tomb!

The dreams fond youth in years agone had cherished;
The hopes that wove a rainbow tissue bright-
Are they all gone-forever gone, and perished-
Ev'n the last bud my silent tears had nourished-
Have all been Death's delight?

And will he come and mock me with his booty,
And twirl my visions round his bony finger?
And will he tell my heart no other beauty
Upon the earth is mine-no other duty,
Than for his mandate linger?

Up, rise, thou vital spark! not yet extinguished,
Assert thy heritage-exert thy might;
Though in the sloughs of sorrow thou hast languished,
And pain and wrong's envenomed part out-anguished,
One ray breaks through the night.

There is, there is one blessed thought surviving;
The heart's sure fulcrum in the saddest strait-
An overture to this unequal striving-
A hope, a home, a last and blest arriving!
Bear up, my heart, and wait.

Bear up, poor heart! be patient, and be meekful;
A calm must follow each untoward blast;
With steady eye look forward to the sequel;
The common road will then seem less unequal,
That brings us home 'at last.'

Come trial, pain, and disappointment's shiver,
Ye are my kindsmen-brothers of this clay;
We must abide and I must bear the quiver
A little while, and we shall part forever-
Beyond the surges of that shoreless river
Ye cannot 'come away.'