Pacing the agonies,
Commanding a mulish swagger;
Impartial to the politics of an undecided fate -
So loved by nurturing attendants proud;
The infant-Man requests his pack;
Contests the value of provisions had,
And gnaws the remaining wisdoms back.
With a staff to make steady,
Engineered from the wood of an upright post,
He is now to be ready
For exploration as is never known.
The nausea of failure's bin
Shall not happen upon him,
The commonplace man.
The poison of the stinging rebukes halts not
The forward-stepping saint
Who contrasts mightily
The hapless doughty,
And the stumbling formation
Which drags at the consul.
Think not that any praise be sweet,
Or more complete than true reward:
For tokens shine as light on water
Whilst cordials drawn
From effort's elixir
May hush the frenzies
And appease the ceaseless fervor.
Not one thing stops,
In this shifting design.
This God-inspired life
Allows no denial
Or camouflage
Out from this continuance.
If this spinning top stops
We all stop,
And as Life mystifies
It has not the wherewithal
To turn back upon its own.
Step forward with courage
Into Future's embrace,
For there in the alcove
Sweet accompaniment waits;
With guiding hand and
Love's shining face;
For this is the Present
Endowed in the Future.
The "consul" is the leader. In the case of a caravan, the leading camel is the consul.
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