Alexander Pope (1688-1744), considered by many to be the foremost English poet of the early 18th century, had much to say on the condition of Man.
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| Alexander Pope 1688-1744 |
Now, as I deal with immobility and pain and the inability to live what for me was a normal life, these lines from Alexander Pope's Essay on Man (Epistle 2, part 2) keep flashing in my mind's eye like neon signs from Hell:
Self-love, the spring of motion, acts the soul;
Reason's comparing balance rules the whole.
Man, but for that, no action could attend,
And but for this, were active to no end:
Fix'd like a plant on his peculiar spot,
To draw nutrition, propagate, and rot;
Or, meteor-like, flame lawless through the void,
Destroying others, by himself destroy'd.
For I do indeed feel like a plant fixed in one place, to "draw nutrition, propagate and rot."
(A link to the full text is posted below).
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Even earlier, however, John Milton (1608-1674) in "On His Blindness" had assured himself that despite his disability, his life still had purpose, and held that "they also serve who only stand and wait." (This text also posted below).
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| John Milton, 1608-1674 |
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But "standing and waiting" is not what I was designed for. My entire life has been about being "up and doing" as exemplified in the work of the American poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
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| Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 1807-1882 |
This great poet, who immortalized Paul Revere's famous ride, and countless other real and mythic heroic figures of Amercan history, obviously had no patience for idlers, as we read in his "Psalm of Life." (Full text printed below.)
"Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait."
But what am I to make of the last line of the final stanza of his "Psalm of Life?" Learn to Labor and to Wait? Wait for what? And therein lies my dilemma!
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Here are some full texts for reference.
1. Alexander Pope's Essay on Man is too long to print here but you may find full text at:
2. On his Blindness by John Milton
When I consider how my light is spentEre half my days in this dark world and wide,And that one talent which is death to hideLodg'd with me useless, though my soul more bentTo serve therewith my Maker, and presentMy true account, lest he returning chide;"Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?"I fondly ask. But Patience to preventThat murmur, soon replies: "God doth not needEither man's work or his own gifts; who bestBear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His stateIs kingly. Thousands at his bidding speedAnd post o'er land and ocean without rest:They also serve who only stand and wait."~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
3. A Psalm of Life by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
A Psalm of Life
What The Heart Of The Young Man Said To The Psalmist.
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world’s broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,— act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o’erhead!
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
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