Poems (Waldenburg)/Fatalism

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FATALISM.
Now I sit with folded hands Hopes at rest beside life's river,Clutching not its shining sands Only waiting 'till the giverOf my fate shall stir the wave, And I see my destinySurging from the hand that gave.
If to me the share be given Pleasure's gleaming silver crest,Or love's passion flower crimson Flood with burning glow my breast,Thrilling all my veins elate, I will trust, for if it mustLo 'twill come though it be late.
Or if cold my life shall chill, And the mountain weights of woeFreeze my heart and cynic will, ​ Crust it o'er with drifts of snow,What helpeth it to fret and moan: For if it be fatalityI can't gainsay, but tread it on.
If when I die no recompense Seems to me to bless my lot,If naught be of remembrance But wishes over what was not.Whatever was was doomed to be, And so I die with scarce a sighMy fate is done, all I can see.

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