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Robert W Service - Quatrains
Work rating: Low

One said: Thy life is thine to make or mar,
To flicker feebly, or to soar, a star;
    It lies with thee — the choice is thine, is thine,
To hit the ties or drive thy auto-car.

I answered Her: The choice is mine — ah, no!
We all were made or marred long, long ago.
    The parts are written; hear the super wail:
"Who is stage-managing this cosmic show?"

Blind fools of fate and slaves of circumstance,
Life is a fiddler, and we all must dance.
    From gloom where mocks that will-o`-wisp, Free-will
I heard a voice cry: "Say, give us a chance."

Chance! Oh, there is no chance! The scene is set.
Up with the curtain! Man, the marionette,
    Resumes his part. The gods will work the wires.
They`ve got it all down fine, you bet, you bet!

It`s all decreed — the mighty earthquake crash,
The countless constellations` wheel and flash;
    The rise and fall of empires, war`s red tide;
The composition of your dinner hash.

There`s no haphazard in this world of ours.
Cause and effect are grim, relentless powers.
    They rule the world. (A king was shot last night;
Last night I held the joker and both bowers.)

From out the mesh of fate our heads we thrust.
We can`t do what we would, but what we must.
    Heredity has got us in a cinch —
(Consoling thought when you`ve been on a "bust".)

Hark to the song where spheral voices blend:
"There`s no beginning, never will be end."
    It makes us nutty; hang the astral chimes!
The tables spread; come, let us dine, my friend.
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