Blessed Are They Who Sow and Do Not Reap...

Credit: The Museum of English Rural Life

Blessed are they who sow and do not reap -
they shall wander in extremity.

Blessed are the generous
whose glory in youth has enhanced the extravagant
brightness of days -
who shed their accoutrements at the crossroads.

Blessed are the proud whose pride overflows
the banks of their souls
to become the modesty of whiteness
in the wake of a rainbow's ascent through a cloud.

Blessed are they who know
their hearts will cry out from the wilderness
and that quiet will blossom from their lips.

Blessed are these
for they will be gathered to the heart of the world,
wrapped in a mantle of oblivion
-- their destiny's offering unuttered to the end.

~ Avraham Ben Yitzhak
(translation by Peter Cole)

Blessed Are They Who Sow and Do Not Reap...

Credit: The Museum of English Rural Life

Blessed are they who sow and do not reap -
they shall wander in extremity.

Blessed are the generous
whose glory in youth has enhanced the extravagant
brightness of days -
who shed their accoutrements at the crossroads.

Blessed are the proud whose pride overflows
the banks of their souls
to become the modesty of whiteness
in the wake of a rainbow's ascent through a cloud.

Blessed are they who know
their hearts will cry out from the wilderness
and that quiet will blossom from their lips.

Blessed are these
for they will be gathered to the heart of the world,
wrapped in a mantle of oblivion
-- their destiny's offering unuttered to the end.

~ Avraham Ben Yitzhak
(translation by Peter Cole)

To the One Who is Reading Me

Photo credit: dhannte from morguefile.com

You are invulnerable. Didn’t they deliver
(those forces that control your destiny)
the certainty of dust? Couldn’t it be
your irreversible time is that river
in whose bright mirror Heraclitus read
his brevity? A marble slab is saved
for you, one you won’t read, already graved
with city, epitaph, dates of the dead.
And other men are also dreams of time,
not hardened bronze, purified gold. They’re dust
like you; the universe is Proteus.
Shadow, you’ll travel to what waits ahead,
the fatal shadow waiting at the rim.
Know this: in some way you’re already dead.

~ Jorge Luis Borges

(Translated by Tony Barnstone)

To the One Who is Reading Me

Photo credit: dhannte from morguefile.com

You are invulnerable. Didn’t they deliver
(those forces that control your destiny)
the certainty of dust? Couldn’t it be
your irreversible time is that river
in whose bright mirror Heraclitus read
his brevity? A marble slab is saved
for you, one you won’t read, already graved
with city, epitaph, dates of the dead.
And other men are also dreams of time,
not hardened bronze, purified gold. They’re dust
like you; the universe is Proteus.
Shadow, you’ll travel to what waits ahead,
the fatal shadow waiting at the rim.
Know this: in some way you’re already dead.

~ Jorge Luis Borges

(Translated by Tony Barnstone)

In the Long Run

Photo credit: puravida from morguefile.com

In the long run fame finds the deserving man.
The lucky wight may prosper for a day,
But in good time true merit leads the van,
And vain pretense, unnoticed, goes its way.
There is no Chance, no Destiny, no Fate,
But Fortune smiles on those who work and wait,
In the long run.

In the long run all goodly sorrow pays,
There is no better thing than righteous pain,
The sleepless nights, the awful thorn-crowned days,
Bring sure reward to tortured soul and brain.
Unmeaning joys enervate in the end,
But sorrow yields a glorious dividend
In the long run.

In the long run all hidden things are known,
The eye of truth will penetrate the night,
And good or ill, thy secret shall be known,
However well 't is guarded from the light.
All the unspoken motives of the breast
Are fathomed by the years and stand confest
In the long run.

In the long run all love is paid by love,
Though undervalued by the hosts of earth;
The great eternal Government above
Keeps strict account and will redeem its worth.
Give thy love freely; do not count the cost;
So beautiful a thing was never lost
In the long run.

- Ella Wheeler Wilcox

In the Long Run

Photo credit: puravida from morguefile.com

In the long run fame finds the deserving man.
The lucky wight may prosper for a day,
But in good time true merit leads the van,
And vain pretense, unnoticed, goes its way.
There is no Chance, no Destiny, no Fate,
But Fortune smiles on those who work and wait,
In the long run.

In the long run all goodly sorrow pays,
There is no better thing than righteous pain,
The sleepless nights, the awful thorn-crowned days,
Bring sure reward to tortured soul and brain.
Unmeaning joys enervate in the end,
But sorrow yields a glorious dividend
In the long run.

In the long run all hidden things are known,
The eye of truth will penetrate the night,
And good or ill, thy secret shall be known,
However well 't is guarded from the light.
All the unspoken motives of the breast
Are fathomed by the years and stand confest
In the long run.

In the long run all love is paid by love,
Though undervalued by the hosts of earth;
The great eternal Government above
Keeps strict account and will redeem its worth.
Give thy love freely; do not count the cost;
So beautiful a thing was never lost
In the long run.

- Ella Wheeler Wilcox