All is Well

Whate'er you dream, with doubt possessed,
Keep, keep it snug within your breast,
And lay you down and take your rest;
And when you wake, to work again,
The wind it blows, the vessel goes,
And where and whither, no one knows.

'Twill all be well: no need of care;
Though how it will, and when, and where,
We cannot see, and can't declare.
In spite of dreams, in spite of thought,
'Tis not in vain, and not for nought,
The wind it blows, the ship it goes,
Though where and whither, no one knows.

Arthur Hugh Clough

           * * *
Наслаждайтесь: все проходит!
То благой, то строгий к нам,
Своенравно рок приводит
Нас к утехам и к бедам.
Чужд он долгого пристрастья:
Вы, чья жизнь полна красы
На лету ловите счастья
Ненадежные часы.
Не ропщите: все проходит,
И ко счастью иногда
Неожиданно приводит
Нас суровая беда.
И веселью и печали
На изменчивой земле
Боги праведные дали
Одинакие криле.

1834 

A Name in the Sand

By Hannah Flagg Gould


ALONE I walked the ocean strand;
A pearly shell was in my hand:
I stooped and wrote upon the sand
My name—the year—the day.
As onward from the spot I passed,
One lingering look behind I cast;
A wave came rolling high and fast,
And washed my lines away.

And so, methought, ’t will shortly be
With every mark on earth from me:
A wave of dark oblivion’s sea
Will sweep across the place
Where I have trod the sandy shore
Of time, and been, to be no more,
Of me—my day—the name I bore,
To leave nor track nor trace.

And yet, with Him who counts the sands
And holds the waters in his hands,
I know a lasting record stands
Inscribed against my name,
Of all this mortal part has wrought,
Of all this thinking soul has thought,
And from these fleeting moments caught
For glory or for shame.

                  Bide a Wee, and Dinna Fret

                           Is the road very dreary?
                                  Patience yet!
Rest will be sweeter, if thou art aweary
And after night cometh the morning cheery,
                          Then bide a wee, and dinna fret.

                           The clouds have silver lining,
                                   Don't forget!
And though he's hidden, still the sun is shining;
Courage! instead of tears in vain repining,
                             Just bide a wee and dinna fret.

                             With toil and cares unbending
                                     Art beset?
Bethink thee how the storms from heaven descending
Snap the stiff oak, but spare the willow bending,
                             And bide a wee, and dinna fret.

                            Grief sharper sting doth borrow
                                    From regret!
But yesterday is done, and shall its sorrow
Unfit us for the present and the morrow?
                             Nay; bide a wee, and dinna fret.

                         An over-anxious brooding
                                   Doth beget
A host of fears and phantasies deluding,
Then, brother, lest the torments be intruding,
                       Just bide a wee and dinna fret.

(Anon, originally published in "Leisure Hours", compiled in the Pennsylvania School Journal, vol. 26, 1877)

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Nay, do not grieve tho' life be full of sadness,
Dawn will not veil her splendor for your grief,
Nor spring deny their bright, appointed beauty
To lotus blossom and ashoka leaf.

Nay, do not pine, tho' life be dark with trouble,
Time will not pause or tarry on its way;
Today that seems so long, so strange, so bitter,
Will soon be some forgotten yesterday.

Nay, do not weep; new hopes, new dreams, new faces,
The unspent joy of all the unborn years,
Will prove your heart a traitor to its sorrow,
And make your eyes unfaithful to their tears.

(Sarojini Naidu)

Alone I walked the ocean strand;
A pearly shell was in my hand.
I stooped and wrote upon the sand
My name--the year--the day.
As onward from the spot I passed,
One lingering look behind I cast;
A wave came rolling high and fast,
And washed my lines away.

And so, methought, 'twill shortly be
With every mark on earth from me:
A wave of dark oblivion's sea
Will sweep across the place
Where I have trod the sandy shore
Of time, and been, to be no more,
Of me--my day--the name I bore,
To leave nor track nor trace.

And yet, with Him who counts the sands
And holds the waters in His hands,
I know a lasting record stands
Inscribed against my name,
Of all this mortal past has wrought,
Of all this thinking soul has thought,
And from these fleeting moments caught
For glory or for shame.

(Hannah Flag Gould)

This, too, will pass.  O heart, say it over and over,
Out of your deepest sorrow, out of your deepest grief,
No hurt can last forever--perhaps tomorrow
Will bring relief.

This, too, will pass.  It will spend itself--its fury
Will die as the wind dies down with the setting sun;
Assuaged and calm, you will rest again, forgetting
A thing that is done.

Repeat it again and again, O heart, for your comfort;
This, too, will pass as surely as passed before
The old forgotten pain, and the other sorrows
That once you bore.

As certain as stars at night, or dawn after darkness,
Inherent as the lift of the blowing grass,
Whatever your despair or your frustration--
This, too, shall pass.

(Grace Noll Crowell)

Say not the struggle nought availeth,
The labor and the wounds are vain,
The enemy faints not, nor faileth,
And as things have been they remain.

If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;
It may be, in yon smoke conceal'd,
Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers,
And, but for you, possess the field.

For while the tired waves, vainly breaking,
Seem here no painful inch to gain,
Far back, through creeks and inlets making,
Comes silent, flooding in, the main.

And not by eastern windows only,
When daylight comes, comes in the light,
In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly,
But westward, look, the land is bright.

(Arthur Hugh Clough)