O to forget--and to begin again!"

Is not thy mother's rede at one with theirs
Who cry "The work is done"? What though to thee,
Thee only, should the utterance shape itself
"O to forget, and to begin again,"
Only of thee be heard as that keen cry
Rending its way from some distracted heart
That yields it and so breaks? Yet list the cry
Begin for her again, and learn to sing;
But first, in all thy learning learn to be.
Is life a field? then plough it up--re-sow
With worthier seed--Is life a ship? O heed
The southing of thy stars--Is life a breath?
Breathe deeper, draw life up from hour to hour,
Aye, from the deepest deep in thy deep soul.

It may be God's first work is but to breathe
And fill the abysm with drifts of shining air
That slowly, slowly curdle into worlds.
A little space is measured out to us
Of His long leisure; breathe and grow therein,
For life, alas! is short, and "_When we die_
_It is not for a little while_."

They said,
"The work is done," and is it therefore done?
Speak rather to thy mother thus: "All-fair,
Lady of ages, beautiful To-day
And sorrowful To-day, thy children set