Christopher Pearse Cranch
Survival Of The Fittest - Poem by Christopher Pearse Cranch
'NAUGHT but the fittest lives,' I hear
Ring on the northern breeze of thought:
'To Nature's heart the strong are dear,
The weak must pass unloved, unsought.'
And yet in undertones a voice
Is heard that says, 'O child of earth,
Your mind's best work, your heart's best choice
Shall stand with God for what they are worth.'
Time's buildings are not all of stone.
With frailest fibres Nature spins
Her living webs from zone to zone,
And what is lost she daily wins.
I fain would think, amid the strife
Between realities and forms,
Slight gifts may claim perennial life
'Mid slow decay and sudden storms.
This tuft of silver hairs I loose
From open windows to the breeze,
Some bird of spring perchance may use
To build her nest in yonder trees.
These pictures painted with an art
Surpassed by younger sight and skill,
May pass into some friendly heart,
Some room with Nature's smiles may fill.
These leaves of light and earnest rhyme
Dropped on the windy world, though long
Neglected now, some future time
May weave into its nest of song.
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