PEDLAR'S PACK.

Otago Witness, Issue 3337, 27 February 1918, Page 55

PEDLAR'S PACK.

*" IxiYtt is no huckster; that is mine is thine." OLD LETTERS. Monstrous bundles, there they lie in order, Folded, boarded, ribboned, labelled duly; In them —just my past; so! Freakish fortune Placeth them before me, sweetly smileth, Urgeth " Open, seldom men are granted "Chance so rare; what sport to con them over, " Frank, unguarded, innocent outpourings, " All unpractised youth's fine aspirations — "Ope!" She smileth; but behind the sweetness Seems to lurk a something—scarce I catch itSomething unsweet, something dark, and sinister, As in Sky serene your muttered thunder; .And I pause or ere I draw the slip-knots, Questioning "O man, O man, what dost thou? " Here be dreams, and hopes, and wild outreachings; "Here be intuitions of God's purpose; "Here be soul-upliftings, consecrations—- " Dar'st thou face them? Dar'st thou call thy youth up "Here to sit upon thine age in judgment?" Moveless sit I, finger on the ribbon,' Thinking, thinking, thinking, thinking, thinking. .'■•'. . All is over; pros and cons have battled — Lo, the cons lie strewn round the arena! What have I to fear, who flinched not ever, Did, nor counted cost, the thing God bade. me? Rise, my past; I dread you not; my pulses' Steady beating you can never quicken I So—the knots I . . . At length my task is ended; Read from first page steadily to last page Every letter, while the Soul within me— Real I, that function blindly, lamely Through this outward garb of brain and body— Entered womb again of Time that bore her, Quickened, greatened slowly, greatened surely, From that strange re-entrance as of old-time Back to Now; when, having so retrodden Old-time paths, refelt the old-time feelings, Here she sits, her very present selfhood, Judge; and this the tenour of her judg-. ment: " Soul that, when before thee many a pathway "Shone with fame, glowed rich with worthy honour, " Yet couldst turn and choose thee, at Love's bidding, " One rock-strewn, and thornful, steep, and slippery; " Soul that went'st that painful way all gaily, " Forcing back tears born of prick and stumble, " Rising brave from every fall, and climbing " But more fixtly as moro peril ringed thee; " Smiling up to God while God still blest thee, "Heartened thee with vision of His Beauty; " Gripping with strong death-grip doubts that tore thee. " When His Face He veiled, and all grew awful; "Straining still unseeing eyes to Heaven—- " Soul, sink not with stifled cry of 'Failure !' "Up, and on; not yet the end is. Failure? "Nay, life knoweth naught at all of failure " Save when man lies beastlike where he falleth. "Hast thou lain so? Hast thou one ideal "Of those untried days of dream relinquisht? " Burn they not within thee still, beyond thee, " Deep to Deep aery with passionate longing, " Till in oneness die the aching voices? "On! Not yet the end, O stubborn strivcr, " Yet, couldst thou use eyes of Those that watch thee, "Near thou'dst know it; 'tis when darkness falleth, " When astray, los,t utterly, men deem them, " Gods hold breath, awaiting the achievements Maksyas.