Peter McArthur (1866–1924)

HOW should I be the master of my ways?

When every nerve is vibrant to the sweep

Of dreams that fill the measure of my days,

Too rare to lose and past all power to keep.

How should I know what it were well to do?

When every path has its alluring strain,

Each towering crest its world-revealing view

Of realms for him who has the will to reign.

And while I waver, lo! this earthly shard,

Wherein is breathed the swift compelling fire,

Breaks with the ardour it was shaped to guard;

Yet, ever striving, dream-led, I aspire,

Ere all be spent, with reverent hands to light

A guiding star on some hope-kindling height.