The Battle of Life

The wintry storm was raging loud without,

And to and fro,

The angry winds flung carelessly about,

The falling snow.

Luxuriously before the ruddy fire

I sat at ease,

The only object of my heart's desire

Myself to please.

A voice aroused me from my idle dreams;

"Rise, rise, my child!

Shake thyself loose from these unfruitful schemes,

These fancies wild.

"Come forth with me, and buffet wind and storm

And icy cold;

Come as thou art, nor stay thy shrinking form

Thus to enfold!"

IT was the Master's voice.  It could but yield

To its behest,

While dread repugnance lay but till concealed

Within my breast.

Behind me closed my sheltering door; I faced

The tempest rude;

Wild, savage winds my shrinking form embraced

While thus I stood

Upon the threshold, casting longing eyes

Back to my home,

Reluctant from my childhood's Paradise

Enforced to roam.

Then plunging onward towards th' appointed way,

I madly went,

And night and day, yea, many a night and day,

My figure bent

Beneath the blast.  Assailed with shuddering dire,

By fears opprest,

Despairing, hopeless, stript of all desire,

I onward prest.

Until I heard above the thunder's roll

The Master's voice

Arise once more.  It cried : "Oh, faithless soul,

Behold thy choice!

"A life-long childhood, basking idly on

The lap of ease,

Or manhood's strength by long endurance won

In toils like these.

"Whether to gird thyself to walk with Me

Mid conflicts dread,

Or back effeminate to ease to flee--

Living--yet dead."

Already by my labors stronger grown,

I stood and cried:

"Master and Lord! with Thee, with Thee alone,

Let me abide.

"Let me but know I buffet wind and storm,

With Thee, with Thee!

Upon my path Thine own divinest form

But let me see!"

Thus in the hour of battle choice was made!

Choice of unrest!

Thus Christian manhood seeking, undismayed

The storm I breast.

No leisure now, no dreams, no idle time;

I wrestle on;

Beat, icy winds, oppose, oh adverse clime,

Till victory's won.

For I shall win!  I shall come forth at last

Not lost, but found!

A Christian warrior whom each stormy blast

Hath victory crowned!

--Elizabeth Prentiss, Golden Hours--