Poems (Waldenburg)/Fatalism

FATALISM.

Now I sit with folded hands
Hopes at rest beside life's river,
Clutching not its shining sands
Only waiting 'till the giver
Of my fate shall stir the wave,
And I see my destiny
Surging from the hand that gave.

If to me the share be given
Pleasure's gleaming silver crest,
Or love's passion flower crimson
Flood with burning glow my breast,
Thrilling all my veins elate,
I will trust, for if it must
Lo 'twill come though it be late.

Or if cold my life shall chill,
And the mountain weights of woe
Freeze my heart and cynic will,
Crust it o'er with drifts of snow,
What helpeth it to fret and moan:
For if it be fatality
I can't gainsay, but tread it on.

If when I die no recompense
Seems to me to bless my lot,
If naught be of remembrance
But wishes over what was not.
Whatever was was doomed to be,
And so I die with scarce a sigh
My fate is done, all I can see.