Eleanor Farjeon (Элинор Фарджон)
The Moral
The youth cried in anguish: "God, My life is bowed down beneath Its woe! I am no mere clod— There's fire in my blood and breath. "You, Who made me of flesh, not stone, Of quivering tissues—dare You leave me to face alone A grief past my strength to bear? "Life might be veriest heaven, Life can be veriest hell— In _Your_ hands rests what is given. God, I hold You responsible!" Then the man who was growing grey Observed: "In an idle mood God blew bubbles one day And loosed the glistening brood On the welkin, one by one— Myriads of worlds they sped: There were planets and moon and sun, And one was the globe we tread." Then the Spirit that Nullifies, Men term Death, asked: "How long?" (One fears God shrugged.) "While I blink my eyes— Shall we say a billion years?" * * * * * The youth on the fable broke, And scorn in his accents ran: "What is all this to me? I spoke To God of _Myself_, old man."
Eleanor Farjeon’s other poems:
