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From the Fool

Since the wise men have not spoken, I speak that am only a fool;

A fool that hath loved his folly,

A fool that in all his days hath done never a prudent thing,

nor recked if another reaped the fruit of his mighty sowing,

A fool that shall laugh in his lonely heart as the ripe ears fall to the reaping-hooks

And the poor are filled that were empty,

Tho' he go hungry.

I have squandered the splendid years that the Lord God gave to my youth

In attempting impossible things, deeming them alone worth the toil.

For this I have heard in my heart, that a man shall scatter, not hoard,

Shall not bargain or huxter with God; or was it a jest of Christ's

And is this my sin before men, to have taken Him at His word?

O wise men, riddle me this: what if the dream come true?

And if millions unborn shall dwell in the house that I shaped in my heart,

The noble house of my thought?

Ye shall call for a miracle, taking Christ at His word.

And for this I will answer, O people, answer here and hereafter,

O people that I have loved, shall we not answer together?