It can be done · Chapter 213Prayer for Pain
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"The thief steals from himself. The swindler swindles himself," says Emerson. Apparent gain may be actual loss; material escape may be spiritual imprisonment. Any one may idle; but the men who are not content unless they climb the unscalable mountains or cross the uncharted seas or bear the burdens that others shrink from, are the ones who keep the heritage of the spirit undiminished.
I do not pray for peace nor ease, Nor truce from sorrow: No suppliant on servile knees Begs here against to-morrow!
Lean flame against lean flame we flash, O, Fates that meet me fair; Blue steel against blue steel we clash— Lay on, and I shall dare!
But Thou of deeps the awful Deep, Thou Breather in the clay, Grant this my only prayer—Oh keep My soul from turning gray!
For until now, whatever wrought Against my sweet desires, My days were smitten harps strung taut, My nights were slumbrous lyres.
And howsoe'er the hard blow rang Upon my battered shield, Some lark-like, soaring spirit sang Above my battlefield.
And through my soul of stormy night The zigzag blue flame ran. I asked no odds—I fought my fight— Events against a man.
But now—at last—the gray mist chokes And numbs me. Leave me pain! Oh let me feel the biting strokes That I may fight again!
John G. Neihardt.
From "The Quest" (collected lyrics).