The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
IV.
But alas! some writers' souls have floated
Farther than the letter-fragments sail.
Noble spirits, faithful and devoted,
Where are ye? Man's wondering thought turns pale.
Farther than the letter-fragments sail.
Noble spirits, faithful and devoted,
Where are ye? Man's wondering thought turns pale.
Farther than the stars that watch me read them
Have the writers of some letters sped:
Angel hearts, it may be, love and heed them,
But for us they rank among the dead.
Have the writers of some letters sped:
Angel hearts, it may be, love and heed them,
But for us they rank among the dead.
Past the goals of mortal joy and anguish,
Past our winters of the barren bough,
Hours of storm or summer days that languish,
Past all change of seasons are they now.
Past our winters of the barren bough,
Hours of storm or summer days that languish,
Past all change of seasons are they now.
119
Some whose power had vanished of discerning
God behind his veil of purple air,
God behind his sunset-raiment burning,
God beyond the flowers he makes so fair,—
God behind his veil of purple air,
God behind his sunset-raiment burning,
God beyond the flowers he makes so fair,—
These have travelled into viewless regions:
Now, perhaps, God face to face they see,
Find the deathland holds its living legions,
Find how crowded is eternity.
Now, perhaps, God face to face they see,
Find the deathland holds its living legions,
Find how crowded is eternity.
Much they suffered, these, while life enchained them.
God, perhaps, whom they disdained to own,
Generous more than they, has not disdained them,
Given an audience unto each alone.
God, perhaps, whom they disdained to own,
Generous more than they, has not disdained them,
Given an audience unto each alone.
Has not God in whom their hearts found pleasure,
Though they called him by another name,
Said to each with love no words may measure,
“Heaven was very lonely till you came!”
Though they called him by another name,
Said to each with love no words may measure,
“Heaven was very lonely till you came!”
As I read their loving simple letters
Oft I feel that though their creed was grim
They have grown to-day beyond its fetters,
Each has found God looking out for him.
Oft I feel that though their creed was grim
They have grown to-day beyond its fetters,
Each has found God looking out for him.
120
Each has found that if the soul beseech him
Truly, in the tongue of any land,
Ever will its urgent crying reach him,
Ever will he stoop and understand.
Truly, in the tongue of any land,
Ever will its urgent crying reach him,
Ever will he stoop and understand.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |