I send you this sure message: Fear is dead
In all the pure, by reason's wisdom led,
Who wear white honor and evince good-will,
And trust the self to Love's unfailing skill.
I send you this sure message: Courage lives
When man to Courage all assurance gives.
THE SOUL OF THE CELL.
This crystal of Quartz,--the queen of its tribe,
Amethyst, Onyx, Chalcedony, Heliotrope, Agate,--
Some toiler of old Japan, the Artist fantastic,
Has polished to likeness of ice,
Ruining form to reveal it Fleche d'Amour
That the marvelous, delicate, hairlike inclosures
Of crystallizations foreign might please the beholder.
Herein worked the Infinite well,
And, let us say, too, the artisan patient,
To one limit--significant boundary!
HEALTH!
I request you to define it--configure the wonder
Of this dust-common, beneficent Gift.
Who lacks it, he knows quite precisely his want;
Who has it divulges precisely the thing.
Yet never man--scientist, poet, physician--
In words can portray it--the Soul of the Cell,
THAT lurks only in spheres of the Substance of Life;
Fares past the quartz and hides in the throat of the wearer.
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