The law of love binds every heart,
And knits it to its utmost kin,
Nor can our lives flow long apart
From souls our secret souls would win.
And yet he is not satisfied with this; he says it is too subtle and
lacks the large, simple imagery of the original lines.
The legion who cherish this poem in their hearts are justly incensed
whenever they come across a copy of it to which some one, a few years
ago, had the effrontery to add this inane stanza:--
Serene I fold my hands and wait,
Whate'er the storms of life may be,
Faith guides me up to heaven's gate,
And love will bring my own to me.
One of Mr. Burroughs's friends (Joel Benton), himself a poet, in
an article tracing the vicissitudes of this poem, shows pardonable
indignation at the "impudence and hardihood of the unmannered meddler"
who tacked on the "heaven's gate" stanza, and adds:--
The lyric as Burroughs wrote it embodies a motive, or concept, that has
scarcely been surpassed for amenability to poetic treatment, and for
touching and impressive point. Its partly elusive outlines add to its
charm. Its balance between hint and affirmation; its faith in universal
forces, and its tender yet virile expression, are all shining qualities,
apparent to the critical, and hypnotic to the general, reader. There
is nothing in it that need even stop at "heaven's gate." It permits the
deserving reader by happy instinct to go through that portal--without
waiting outside to parade his sect mark. But the force of the poem
and catholicity of its sanctions are either utterly destroyed or
ridiculously enfeebled, by capping it with a sectarian and narrowly
interpreted climax.
Although the poem is so well known, I shall quote it here in the form
preferred by its author;--