A Song from the Coptic
Quarrels have long been in vogue among sages;
Still, though in many things wranglers and rancorous,
All the philosopher-scribes of all ages
Join, una voce, on one point to anchor us.
Here is the gist of their mystified pages,
Here is the wisdom we purchase with gold—
Children of Light, leave the world to its mulishness,
Things to their natures, and fools to their foolishness,
Berries were bitter in forests of old.
Hoary old Merlin, that great necromancer,
Made me, a student, a similar answer,
When I besought him for light and for lore:
Toiler in vain! Leave the world to its mulishness
Things to their natures, and fools to their foolishness;
Granite was hard in the quarries of yore.
And on the ice-crested heights of Armenia,
And in the valleys of broad Abyssinia,
Still spake the Oracle just as before:
Wouldst thou have peace, leave the world to its mulishness
Things to their natures, and fools to their foolishness;
Beetles were blind in the ages of yore.