Poem by Charles George Douglas Roberts

The Aim

  O thou who lovest not alone
  The swift success, the instant goal,
  But hast a lenient eye to mark
  The failures of th' inconstant soul,

  Consider not my little worth,--
  The mean achievement, scamped in act,
  The high resolve and low result,
  The dream that durst not face the fact.

  But count the reach of my desire.
  Let this be something in Thy sight:--
  I have not, in the slothful dark,
  Forgot the Vision and the Height.

  Neither my body nor my soul
  To earth's low ease will yield consent.
  I praise Thee for my will to strive.
  I bless Thy goad of discontent.

1. The Potato Harvest
2. The Frosted Pane
3. The Autumn Thistles
4. At the Gates of Spring
5. An April Adoration

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