Albert Ernest Stafford Smythe (1861–1947)

WHAT shall it profit a man

To gain the world—if he can—

And lose his soul, as they say

In their uninstructed way?

The whole of the world in gain;

The whole of your soul! Too vain

You judge yourself in the cost.

’Tis you—not your soul—is lost.

Your soul! If you only knew—

You would reach to the Heaven’s blue,

To the heartmost centre sink,

Ere you severed the silver link,

To be lost in your petty lust

And scattered in cosmic dust.

For your soul is a Shining Star

Where the Throne and the Angels are.

And after a thousand years,

With the salve of his bottled tears,

Your soul shall gather again

From the dust of a world of pain

The frame of a slave set free—

The man that you ought to be,

The man you may be to-night

If you turn to the Valley of Light.