 | The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith |  |
CRYSTALLISED SERMONS
NOTE
He had no written sermons, only tookBrief jottings upon any scrap of paper—
Bits of old letters, envelopes, or labels—
And there the thought was scrawled, but half the matter
Was illustration roughly etched, a kind
Of hieroglyph whereof he had the key,
Now lost for ever: etchings strongly drawn,
With a clear eye for form, and touched with humour
Or pathos; so he penned his similes.
But certain thoughts that took his fancy more,
And, as I guess, had troubled hearers more,
These he had gathered up, and put in verse,
As sermon-matter crystallised, once spoken
In amplitude of phrase, but now compact;
Not to be preached, but crooned in quiet hours
Of musing by the fire. Poor sermons truly
For common folk with common thoughts and sins
And sorrows, and no reaching out of hope
To find a larger faith in Charity;
Yet notable for a Licentiate
Starting, on Saturdays, with little valise
And threadbare garments, for some homely kirk
Among the hills, or on the village green,
Whither he went, and fired his aimless shot,
Then passed away again, and was forgot.
SACRIFICE
“And there he builded an altar unto the
Lord that appeared unto him.”—Gen. xii. 7.
Is there Bridge-maker who can throw
An arch across the gulf of years,
That we may travel back, and know
The brooding thoughts, and haunting fears,
And clinging faiths of them who raised
Their altars 'neath the evening star,
And offered to the gods, and priased,
And drave the dogs and birds afar?
An arch across the gulf of years,
That we may travel back, and know
The brooding thoughts, and haunting fears,
And clinging faiths of them who raised
Their altars 'neath the evening star,
And offered to the gods, and priased,
And drave the dogs and birds afar?
Vainly, I seek to know his mind
Who smote the lamb with gleaming knife,
And sprinkled blood, and hoped to find
The peace of a diviner life.
Far off he seems, I cannot tell
Whether beneath me, or above,
Or compassed round with shades of hell,
Or trembling in the bliss of love!
Who smote the lamb with gleaming knife,
And sprinkled blood, and hoped to find
The peace of a diviner life.
Far off he seems, I cannot tell
Whether beneath me, or above,
Or compassed round with shades of hell,
Or trembling in the bliss of love!
I gaze back from the brink of time
On shadowy forms of early days,
That in the morning, loom sublime,
God-guided on untravelled ways;
But o'er the vague, vast chasm that parts
Their thought from mine I cannot go;
I wot not how their troubled hearts
Were calmed by making blood to flow.
On shadowy forms of early days,
That in the morning, loom sublime,
God-guided on untravelled ways;
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Their thought from mine I cannot go;
I wot not how their troubled hearts
Were calmed by making blood to flow.
Yet once wherever man had trod,
Or sin had grown from base desire,
He built an altar to his god,
And laid the faggot on the fire,
And brought the choicest of the flock
From frolic by its bleating dam,
And laid upon the unhewn rock
The tender kid, or spotless lamb.
Or sin had grown from base desire,
He built an altar to his god,
And laid the faggot on the fire,
And brought the choicest of the flock
From frolic by its bleating dam,
And laid upon the unhewn rock
The tender kid, or spotless lamb.
The knife into its throat was driven,
The blood was sprinkled on the stone,
The smell of fat went up to heaven,
That on the leaping flame was thrown;
And he before his god was glad,
And prayed, and sang his evening hymn,
And laid him down to sleep, and had
Bright dreams until the stars grew dim.
The blood was sprinkled on the stone,
The smell of fat went up to heaven,
That on the leaping flame was thrown;
And he before his god was glad,
And prayed, and sang his evening hymn,
And laid him down to sleep, and had
Bright dreams until the stars grew dim.
Thus did the Hebrew on the plain
Of Moreh, while Heaven, many-eyed,
Unweeping, saw the throbbing pain,
Or smiled even as the victim died,
And smelled a sweeter smell from blood,
He wist, than from the myriad flowers
That breathed, from shining bell and bud,
Their incense through the dewy hours.
Of Moreh, while Heaven, many-eyed,
Unweeping, saw the throbbing pain,
Or smiled even as the victim died,
And smelled a sweeter smell from blood,
He wist, than from the myriad flowers
That breathed, from shining bell and bud,
Their incense through the dewy hours.
The subtle-witted Greek with art
Was fain the anguish to adorn,
And singing with a sprightly heart,
Led the young kid with sprouting horn,
Flower-garlanded, into the grove,
And there by crystal fount or brook,
Into the life of Nature wove
The slender thread of life he took.
Was fain the anguish to adorn,
And singing with a sprightly heart,
Led the young kid with sprouting horn,
Flower-garlanded, into the grove,
And there by crystal fount or brook,
Into the life of Nature wove
The slender thread of life he took.
The Norseman slew the mighty steed
That bore him in the battle fray,
And ate the flesh, and drank the mead,
And feasted Hella-thoughts away,
And piled the logs upon the hearth,
And called the gods, in stormy words,
To send the hungry ravens forth
To fatten at the feast of swords.
That bore him in the battle fray,
And ate the flesh, and drank the mead,
And feasted Hella-thoughts away,
And piled the logs upon the hearth,
And called the gods, in stormy words,
To send the hungry ravens forth
To fatten at the feast of swords.
Yet darker rites were theirs who kissed
Their hand unto the placid moon;
Or who the Tyrian Moloch wist
To pacify with choicest boon
Of babe or maid; or where the Priest
Stood grim beneath the Druid oak;
Or Aztec fed with ample feast
The captives for the fateful rock.
Their hand unto the placid moon;
Or who the Tyrian Moloch wist
To pacify with choicest boon
Of babe or maid; or where the Priest
Stood grim beneath the Druid oak;
Or Aztec fed with ample feast
The captives for the fateful rock.
What was it entered thus the soul,
To give it calm, or promise bliss?
Strange that the ages, as they roll,
Have dropped behind a thought like this,
Which held the universal mind
Of all the world when it was young!
For now the key I cannot find
In all that men have said or sung.
To give it calm, or promise bliss?
Strange that the ages, as they roll,
Have dropped behind a thought like this,
Which held the universal mind
Of all the world when it was young!
For now the key I cannot find
In all that men have said or sung.
In mocking scorn, the Prophet laughed
Loud at a hungering, thirsting God
Who craved the flesh of bulls, or quaffed
The reeking blood that died the sod,
For every beast is His, and all
The cattle with their clover-breath,
And Love, that quickened great and small,
Can feel no pleasure in their death.
Loud at a hungering, thirsting God
Who craved the flesh of bulls, or quaffed
The reeking blood that died the sod,
For every beast is His, and all
The cattle with their clover-breath,
And Love, that quickened great and small,
Can feel no pleasure in their death.
They say the Giver of all life
Is fain to take the life He gives,
And will not spare, unless the knife
May gash some other thing that lives;
And they are sure, and they are clear,
While I in dizzying darkness grope,
But trust that God will yet appear
In star-gleams of a nobler hope.
Is fain to take the life He gives,
And will not spare, unless the knife
May gash some other thing that lives;
And they are sure, and they are clear,
While I in dizzying darkness grope,
But trust that God will yet appear
In star-gleams of a nobler hope.
I would not heed, though that old Faith
Had spread its roots o'er all the earth,
If they were withered now in death
As having no abiding worth:
But from those roots still branches spring
That shape our thoughts of truth and right,
And still of Sacrifice we sing,
And blood that maketh clean and white.
Had spread its roots o'er all the earth,
If they were withered now in death
As having no abiding worth:
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That shape our thoughts of truth and right,
And still of Sacrifice we sing,
And blood that maketh clean and white.
There was some passion, fear, or guilt
That emphasised expression thus,
As by a mighty oath, and felt
A peace it cannot give to us.
But what? Was it the soul's consent
To die for sin that it had done?
Nay; man's strong life was not yet spent
On threads by morbid conscience spun.
That emphasised expression thus,
As by a mighty oath, and felt
A peace it cannot give to us.
But what? Was it the soul's consent
To die for sin that it had done?
Nay; man's strong life was not yet spent
On threads by morbid conscience spun.
I know the anguish that is wrought
Into the web of highest bliss;
I know the Cross must be his lot
Who thrills with Love's redeeming kiss.
But when the Lamb or Bullock fell
'Neath the keen blade, or shattering blow,
How that could make the sick heart well,
Or nearer God—I do not know.
Into the web of highest bliss;
I know the Cross must be his lot
Who thrills with Love's redeeming kiss.
But when the Lamb or Bullock fell
'Neath the keen blade, or shattering blow,
How that could make the sick heart well,
Or nearer God—I do not know.
And yet the Lamb of God was slain
Or ere the age of sin began,
And wrapt in that prophetic pain
Is all the history of man;
And all the fulness of his life,
And all the greatness of his thought,
And all the peace of his long strife
Root in that Everlasting Ought.
Or ere the age of sin began,
And wrapt in that prophetic pain
Is all the history of man;
And all the fulness of his life,
And all the greatness of his thought,
And all the peace of his long strife
Root in that Everlasting Ought.
THE STANDING STONES
“God at sundry times and in divers
manners spake in time past unto the
fathers.”—Heb. i. I.
A rolling upland, open and bare,
A blasted heath where the night wind moans,
Eerie and weird, to the curlews there,
And the greedy kite and the kestrel scare
Singing birds from the lightsome air.
A blasted heath where the night wind moans,
Eerie and weird, to the curlews there,
And the greedy kite and the kestrel scare
Singing birds from the lightsome air.
High on the heath are the Standing Stones,
Great, gaunt stones in a mystic ring,
Girdling a barrow where heroes' bones
Crumble to dust of death that owns
Them and their wars and faiths and thrones.
Great, gaunt stones in a mystic ring,
Girdling a barrow where heroes' bones
Crumble to dust of death that owns
Them and their wars and faiths and thrones.
Not far off is an oozy spring
Feeding a black and dismal pool;
There slow efts crawl, horse-leeches cling,
And the dragon-fly whirs on restless wing,
And near by the adder is coiled in the ling;
Feeding a black and dismal pool;
There slow efts crawl, horse-leeches cling,
And the dragon-fly whirs on restless wing,
And near by the adder is coiled in the ling;
And once an oak made a shadow cool,
Woven of its green boughs overhead,
And blithe birds sang in the leafage full;
Now but a raven, bird of dule,
Croaks on its stump from May to Yule.
Woven of its green boughs overhead,
And blithe birds sang in the leafage full;
Now but a raven, bird of dule,
Croaks on its stump from May to Yule.
But silently watching the silent dead
Stands the grey circle of sentinels,
Scarred and lichened, as ages sped
With snows, and dripping rains over-head,
And suns, and the wasteful life they bred.
Stands the grey circle of sentinels,
Scarred and lichened, as ages sped
With snows, and dripping rains over-head,
And suns, and the wasteful life they bred.
Now, evermore where the dead man dwells
The living have gone to seek for God,
And the Altar-fire of the Unseen tells,
Or the swing and the clash of Christian bells
Summon to Lauds and Canticles.
The living have gone to seek for God,
And the Altar-fire of the Unseen tells,
Or the swing and the clash of Christian bells
Summon to Lauds and Canticles.
And there, of old, in that bleak abode
Of wily lapwing and shrill curlew,
To circle and cairn they carried their load
Of burdened thought, as they wearily trod
On to the brink where they lost the road.
Of wily lapwing and shrill curlew,
To circle and cairn they carried their load
Of burdened thought, as they wearily trod
On to the brink where they lost the road.
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There dipped the Sun in the dripping dew
His earliest beams; and there he met
The Bel-fire kindling its answer true—
Light for the light in heaven that grew,
Worship-light to the Light-god due.
His earliest beams; and there he met
The Bel-fire kindling its answer true—
Light for the light in heaven that grew,
Worship-light to the Light-god due.
So men acknowledged, and paid their debt,
In the old days, to the powers above,
Giving back that they were fain to get,
And piling the faggots, dry or wet,
Still as the keen stars rose and set.
In the old days, to the powers above,
Giving back that they were fain to get,
And piling the faggots, dry or wet,
Still as the keen stars rose and set.
Was not the instinct true that wove
Fire-worship thus for the god of fire?
Give from below what ye get from above,
Light for the heaven-light, Love for its Love,
A holy soul for the Holy Dove.
Fire-worship thus for the god of fire?
Give from below what ye get from above,
Light for the heaven-light, Love for its Love,
A holy soul for the Holy Dove.
God tunes for Himself the hallowed lyre
That shall truly His praises show;
He gives the song that He will desire,
Ever new from the trembling wire,
Ever new from the heart on fire.
That shall truly His praises show;
He gives the song that He will desire,
Ever new from the trembling wire,
Ever new from the heart on fire.
Back to its fountain let it flow
Whatsoever He sends to you;
Mercy, if mercy of His ye know,
And if your joy He has made to grow,
Up to Him let its gladness go.
Whatsoever He sends to you;
Mercy, if mercy of His ye know,
And if your joy He has made to grow,
Up to Him let its gladness go.
So in all faiths there is something true,
Even when bowing to stock or stone—
Something that keeps the Unseen in view
Beyond the stars, and beyond the blue,
And notes His gifts with the worship due.
Even when bowing to stock or stone—
Something that keeps the Unseen in view
Beyond the stars, and beyond the blue,
And notes His gifts with the worship due.
For where the spirit of man has gone
A-groping after the Spirit divine,
Somewhere or other it touches the Throne,
And sees a light that is seen by none,
But who seek Him that is sitting thereon.
A-groping after the Spirit divine,
Somewhere or other it touches the Throne,
And sees a light that is seen by none,
But who seek Him that is sitting thereon.
Seek but provision of bread and wine,
High-ceiled houses, and heaps of gold,
Fools to flatter, and raiment fine,
All the wealth of the sea and mine—
And nothing of God shall e'er be thine.
High-ceiled houses, and heaps of gold,
Fools to flatter, and raiment fine,
All the wealth of the sea and mine—
And nothing of God shall e'er be thine.
But who seeks Him, in the dark and cold,
With heart that elsewhere finds no rest,
Some fringe of the skirts of God shall hold,
Though round his spirit the mists may fold,
With eerie shadows, and fears untold.
With heart that elsewhere finds no rest,
Some fringe of the skirts of God shall hold,
Though round his spirit the mists may fold,
With eerie shadows, and fears untold.
THE ANCIENT CROSS
“God at sundry times and in divers
manners spake in time past unto the
fathers.”—Heb. i. I.
There is a long, green spit of land
That juts into a loch; the sea
Not far off thuds upon the sand,
Or crashes where the red rocks be;
But here the peace is very great,
Small brooklets murmur as they list,
And, green with oft-enfolding mist,
The hills stand round in quiet state.
That juts into a loch; the sea
Not far off thuds upon the sand,
Or crashes where the red rocks be;
But here the peace is very great,
Small brooklets murmur as they list,
And, green with oft-enfolding mist,
The hills stand round in quiet state.
The lady-birch, with drooping bough,
Shows graceful by the sturdy pine;
And his red scales more ruddy glow
The more her silver branches shine;
And here and there the rough-kneed oak
Spreads its sharp-dinted glossy leaves
Where the slow fisher, oaring, cleaves
Its shadow with a lazy stroke.
Shows graceful by the sturdy pine;
And his red scales more ruddy glow
The more her silver branches shine;
And here and there the rough-kneed oak
Spreads its sharp-dinted glossy leaves
Where the slow fisher, oaring, cleaves
Its shadow with a lazy stroke.
And on the spit of land a stone,
With lichen tinted and with moss,
Stands on the tufted grass alone,
Its face graven with a simple Cross;
There is no word of pious lore,
Nor wreath, nor ring, nor ornament,
Nor sacred letters nicely blent—
A simple Cross, and nothing more.
With lichen tinted and with moss,
Stands on the tufted grass alone,
Its face graven with a simple Cross;
There is no word of pious lore,
Nor wreath, nor ring, nor ornament,
Nor sacred letters nicely blent—
A simple Cross, and nothing more.
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Not other is the stone from those
That in the mystic circle stand;
An unhewn slab, and yet it shows
New light risen on a darkling land;
In monumental speech, it tells
The story of the ages gone,
The story of the Pagan stone
New-charmed with sacred Christian spells.
That in the mystic circle stand;
An unhewn slab, and yet it shows
New light risen on a darkling land;
In monumental speech, it tells
The story of the ages gone,
The story of the Pagan stone
New-charmed with sacred Christian spells.
Men had been giving blow for blow,
And wrath for wrath, and tears for tears,
And reaping duly grief and woe
Through the long tale of blood-stained years:
Still, with the summer, long ships steered
Up the calm loch with Norsemen fierce,
Whose gleaming swords were sharp to pierce,
And neither gods nor men they feared.
And wrath for wrath, and tears for tears,
And reaping duly grief and woe
Through the long tale of blood-stained years:
Still, with the summer, long ships steered
Up the calm loch with Norsemen fierce,
Whose gleaming swords were sharp to pierce,
And neither gods nor men they feared.
In vain the coracle was hid
In cove beneath the branching trees;
In vain they practised rites forbid,
Or sought the hills, and shunned the seas;
The Viking came with brass-beaked ship,
And wrath and sorrow came with him,
And many a shining eye grew dim,
And quivered many a smiling lip.
In cove beneath the branching trees;
In vain they practised rites forbid,
Or sought the hills, and shunned the seas;
The Viking came with brass-beaked ship,
And wrath and sorrow came with him,
And many a shining eye grew dim,
And quivered many a smiling lip.
Lo! then there travelled o'er the sea,
From the lone isle where saints were bred,
A peaceful, unarmed company
Who brought good news of God, they said:
They suffered much, yet did not grieve,
They laboured much, and wearied not,
They bore with joy a bitter lot,
And sang their hymn at morn and eve.
From the lone isle where saints were bred,
A peaceful, unarmed company
Who brought good news of God, they said:
They suffered much, yet did not grieve,
They laboured much, and wearied not,
They bore with joy a bitter lot,
And sang their hymn at morn and eve.
They sang about the dim grey seas,
And One that walked upon their wave;
They sang about the streams and trees
In a far land beyond the grave;
And when Norse axe, or wild kern's knife,
Unpitying, smote bare head or breast,
They sweetly sang themselves to rest
With songs about the Crown of Life.
And One that walked upon their wave;
They sang about the streams and trees
In a far land beyond the grave;
And when Norse axe, or wild kern's knife,
Unpitying, smote bare head or breast,
They sweetly sang themselves to rest
With songs about the Crown of Life.
By suffering thus subduing wrath,
They conquered those who vanquished them;
And corn grew on the waste war-path,
And nets dried where the long ships came,
And there was wealth where had been loss,
And ringing bells for clash of swords,
And needing no explaining words,
On the old stone they graved a Cross.
They conquered those who vanquished them;
And corn grew on the waste war-path,
And nets dried where the long ships came,
And there was wealth where had been loss,
And ringing bells for clash of swords,
And needing no explaining words,
On the old stone they graved a Cross.
They conquered; yet for many a day
The fierce old spirit lingered still,
And the hot passion had its sway,
And the old war-gods wrought their will,
And rites of fear and blood were done
Amid the mists, and on the moss;
They had but scratched a shallow Cross
Upon the grim old Pagan stone.
The fierce old spirit lingered still,
And the hot passion had its sway,
And the old war-gods wrought their will,
And rites of fear and blood were done
Amid the mists, and on the moss;
They had but scratched a shallow Cross
Upon the grim old Pagan stone.
Ah me! and still we hardly know
The depth and glory of the Faith
That opens life to man by slow,
Meek suffering, patient unto death;
We still are fain, with wrath and strife,
To seek for gain, to shrink from loss,
Content to scratch our shallow Cross
On the rough surface of old life.
The depth and glory of the Faith
That opens life to man by slow,
Meek suffering, patient unto death;
We still are fain, with wrath and strife,
To seek for gain, to shrink from loss,
Content to scratch our shallow Cross
On the rough surface of old life.
And there it stands, the cross-charmed stone,
On the green spit beyond the trees;
It hears by night the faint sea-moan,
By day the song-bird and the breeze,
And Christian bells, and sounding trains,
And the hard grinding of the wheels;
And now and then a pilgrim kneels,
And tells to it his griefs and pains.
On the green spit beyond the trees;
It hears by night the faint sea-moan,
By day the song-bird and the breeze,
And Christian bells, and sounding trains,
And the hard grinding of the wheels;
And now and then a pilgrim kneels,
And tells to it his griefs and pains.
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THE ABBEY
“God at sundry times and in divers
manners spake in time past unto the
fathers.”—Heb. i. I.
Near by the river the Abbey stands,
Among old fruit trees, and on fat green lands,
With a weir on the river to drive the mill,
And cunning cruives at the salmon-leap;
And the beeves on the clover are fetlock-deep,
And the sheep are nibbling the grassy hill.
Among old fruit trees, and on fat green lands,
With a weir on the river to drive the mill,
And cunning cruives at the salmon-leap;
And the beeves on the clover are fetlock-deep,
And the sheep are nibbling the grassy hill.
'Tis now but a ruin, spreading wide
Broken gable and cloistered side
'Mong lichened pear-trees and Spanish nuts,
Here a pillar, and there a shrine,
Or niche where its sculptured lords recline:—
Long a quarry for walls and huts.
Broken gable and cloistered side
'Mong lichened pear-trees and Spanish nuts,
Here a pillar, and there a shrine,
Or niche where its sculptured lords recline:—
Long a quarry for walls and huts.
Oh, stately the Lady-Chapel there
Once reared its cross in the upper air
Near by the river among the trees,
And sweet bells rung, and censers swung,
And matins and vespers and lauds were sung,
With solemn-chaunted litanies.
Once reared its cross in the upper air
Near by the river among the trees,
And sweet bells rung, and censers swung,
And matins and vespers and lauds were sung,
With solemn-chaunted litanies.
O'er the high Altar a meek face shone,
A Virgin-Mother and Baby-Son,
Fashioned by art beyond the sea;
And there, in linen or purple dressed,
A priest gave thanks, or a soul confessed,
With a psalm of praise, or a bended knee.
A Virgin-Mother and Baby-Son,
Fashioned by art beyond the sea;
And there, in linen or purple dressed,
A priest gave thanks, or a soul confessed,
With a psalm of praise, or a bended knee.
And some would pore over vellum books,
And some would feather the sharp fish-hooks,
And some would see to the sheep and kine;
Some went hunting the red-deer stag,
Some would travel with beggar's bag,
And some sat long by the old red wine;
And some would feather the sharp fish-hooks,
And some would see to the sheep and kine;
Some went hunting the red-deer stag,
Some would travel with beggar's bag,
And some sat long by the old red wine;
Some would go pleading a cause in Rome,
And still found cause to be far from home,
And near to St. Peter's costly door:
They were not all bad, and they were not all good
Who wore the Monk's girdle and sandal and hood,
But some of them padded the Cross they bore.
And still found cause to be far from home,
And near to St. Peter's costly door:
They were not all bad, and they were not all good
Who wore the Monk's girdle and sandal and hood,
But some of them padded the Cross they bore.
Yet was the Abbey a fruitful stage
In the slow growth, and the ripening age
Of the long history of man:
For beaming Virgin and Holy Child
Made many a fierce heart meek and mild,
And the mastery there of mind began.
In the slow growth, and the ripening age
Of the long history of man:
For beaming Virgin and Holy Child
Made many a fierce heart meek and mild,
And the mastery there of mind began.
The footsore pilgrim there found rest,
The heartsore too was a welcome guest,
And who loved books, got helpful store.
It is God who guides the world's affairs,
And ever life rises by winding stairs,
Screwing its way from the less to more.
The heartsore too was a welcome guest,
And who loved books, got helpful store.
It is God who guides the world's affairs,
And ever life rises by winding stairs,
Screwing its way from the less to more.
He reads the story best, who reads
Ever to find some germing seeds
Sprouting up to a nobler end,
And God's long patience working still
Through all the good, and through all the ill,
And always something in us to mend.
Ever to find some germing seeds
Sprouting up to a nobler end,
And God's long patience working still
Through all the good, and through all the ill,
And always something in us to mend.
From bud to bell the wild bee strays,
Seeking the sweets of the sunny days,
Probing deep for the honey-cell;
Yet well for his theft he pays the flower,
For he brings to the blossom a quickening power,
And a richer life to bud and bell.
Seeking the sweets of the sunny days,
Probing deep for the honey-cell;
Yet well for his theft he pays the flower,
For he brings to the blossom a quickening power,
And a richer life to bud and bell.
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Narrow and poor was the old Church-life
As it prayed in its cell, amid storm and strife,
With scourgings many, and fastings new;
It knew no letters, it spurned at Art,
It had no pleasures, and lived apart—
Doomed to die as the world's life grew.
As it prayed in its cell, amid storm and strife,
With scourgings many, and fastings new;
It knew no letters, it spurned at Art,
It had no pleasures, and lived apart—
Doomed to die as the world's life grew.
But something of wisdom the Monk would know,
Something of gladness here below,
Something of beauty, and what it can;
He was not sinless, and yet he brought
A larger heart, and a freer thought,
And a fuller life to the sons of man.
Something of gladness here below,
Something of beauty, and what it can;
He was not sinless, and yet he brought
A larger heart, and a freer thought,
And a fuller life to the sons of man.
And we are a stage too—not the end;
Others will come yet our work to mend,
And they too will wonder at our poor ways.
Ah! Life is more than our sermons, prayers,
Bourses, machineries, multiplied wares—
Still the heart sighs for the better days.
Others will come yet our work to mend,
And they too will wonder at our poor ways.
Ah! Life is more than our sermons, prayers,
Bourses, machineries, multiplied wares—
Still the heart sighs for the better days.
Still is a feeling of something in me
Which yet I am not, and I ought to be,
Vaguely reaching for more and more;
And the gain is loss, when I do not win
A larger life for the soul within,
And hopes of an ever-opening door.
Which yet I am not, and I ought to be,
Vaguely reaching for more and more;
And the gain is loss, when I do not win
A larger life for the soul within,
And hopes of an ever-opening door.
A PARABOLIC DISCOURSE
“A certain man planted a vineyard, and
let it forth to husbandmen, and went into
a far country.”—Luke xx. 9.
First Head of Discourse
A stately mansion in its park
Stands fair amid the oaks and limes,
Throstle and ousel, cuckoo and lark,
And flowers and shrubs of many climes,
And stars and tides ring out the chimes,
Telling the seasons and the times.
Stands fair amid the oaks and limes,
Throstle and ousel, cuckoo and lark,
And flowers and shrubs of many climes,
And stars and tides ring out the chimes,
Telling the seasons and the times.
And many guests there come and go,
And make themselves at home in it,
Some restless, hurrying to and fro,
Some lounging where the sunbeams flit,
Some with a curious craving smit,
Some with the laugh of careless wit.
And make themselves at home in it,
Some restless, hurrying to and fro,
Some lounging where the sunbeams flit,
Some with a curious craving smit,
Some with the laugh of careless wit.
All through the woods they hunt the game,
Or snare the fish in brook and mere,
They bake the wheat by the ruddy flame,
Or roast the flesh of the fatted steer,
And draw from cellars cool the clear
Old wine that has ripened many a year.
Or snare the fish in brook and mere,
They bake the wheat by the ruddy flame,
Or roast the flesh of the fatted steer,
And draw from cellars cool the clear
Old wine that has ripened many a year.
This stately mansion is their inn,
Where many fret, and all make free;
They set the tables to lose or win,
They tune the strings to dance with glee:
Only their Host they do not see,
And many doubt if Host there be.
Where many fret, and all make free;
They set the tables to lose or win,
They tune the strings to dance with glee:
Only their Host they do not see,
And many doubt if Host there be.
They think that He is far away,
And that the place is theirs by right;
They think, if He were coming, they
Could bear the searching of His light;
They think He is a dream of night,
That morn will banish from the sight.
And that the place is theirs by right;
They think, if He were coming, they
Could bear the searching of His light;
They think He is a dream of night,
That morn will banish from the sight.
But there are some grave men and wise
Who lead the guests to a silent room,
Wherein a golden volume lies,
And picture of One in youthful bloom,
Whose face a glory doth illume;
And by His side are a Cross and Tomb.
Who lead the guests to a silent room,
Wherein a golden volume lies,
And picture of One in youthful bloom,
Whose face a glory doth illume;
And by His side are a Cross and Tomb.
And this, they say, is He who made
The great house 'mong the oaks and limes,
And He is living who once was dead,
But far away in heavenly climes,
Where are no stars or tides or chimes,
Telling the seasons and the times.
The great house 'mong the oaks and limes,
And He is living who once was dead,
But far away in heavenly climes,
Where are no stars or tides or chimes,
Telling the seasons and the times.
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And some of His guests He keeps for bliss,
And some of them He keeps for gloom,
Some He seals with a loving kiss,
And some He stamps with the brand of doom,
Some He saves by Cross and Tomb,
Meekly dying in their room.
And some of them He keeps for gloom,
Some He seals with a loving kiss,
And some He stamps with the brand of doom,
Some He saves by Cross and Tomb,
Meekly dying in their room.
These He loves of very grace;
But those He leaves to die in sin,
Not evermore to see His face,
Nor ever hope of life to win:
For all the unbelieving kin
Wrath Eternal shuts them in.
But those He leaves to die in sin,
Not evermore to see His face,
Nor ever hope of life to win:
For all the unbelieving kin
Wrath Eternal shuts them in.
And therefore all should bow the knee
At the glory of His might,
And glory of His justice see,
That surely doeth all things right;
And so in Him should they delight
Whether He heal their hearts, or smite.
At the glory of His might,
And glory of His justice see,
That surely doeth all things right;
And so in Him should they delight
Whether He heal their hearts, or smite.
Second Head of Discourse
Once, pitying much their foredoomed lot,
One came who gentle was and meek,
And burdened with long-brooding thought,
One came who gentle was and meek,
And burdened with long-brooding thought,
And when he heard the wise men speak,
He deeply questioned them; and they
Replied that he was vain and weak:
He deeply questioned them; and they
Replied that he was vain and weak:
For this had been the faith alway
Of all the martyrs and the saints,
And all the ages stretching grey
Of all the martyrs and the saints,
And all the ages stretching grey
Among the mountains of events,
Since Luther held the world at bay,
Or Paul was busy making tents.
Since Luther held the world at bay,
Or Paul was busy making tents.
Then silently he turned away,
And to himself the question put,
Searching the matter, night and day.
And to himself the question put,
Searching the matter, night and day.
He did not argue nor dispute,
But prayed that God would lead him right,
And sat and brooded still and mute,
But prayed that God would lead him right,
And sat and brooded still and mute,
Until he saw, as 'twere, the white
Thin sickle of the new-born moon
That yet holds all the round of light,
Thin sickle of the new-born moon
That yet holds all the round of light,
And all to him grew clear as noon,
And he came singing, like a bird
That sings for very joy its tune:
And he came singing, like a bird
That sings for very joy its tune:
He deemed it the Eternal Word,
The glory and the life of Heaven,
Which his entrancèd soul had heard.
The glory and the life of Heaven,
Which his entrancèd soul had heard.
Lo! I have sought, he said, and striven
To find the truth, and found it not,
But yet to me it hath been given,
To find the truth, and found it not,
But yet to me it hath been given,
And unto you it hath been brought.
This Host of ours our Father is,
And we the children He begot.
This Host of ours our Father is,
And we the children He begot.
Upon my brow I felt His kiss,
His love is all about our steps,
And He would lead us all to bliss;
His love is all about our steps,
And He would lead us all to bliss;
For though He comes in many shapes,
His love is throbbing in them all,
And from His love no soul escapes,
And from His mercy none can fall.
His love is throbbing in them all,
And from His love no soul escapes,
And from His mercy none can fall.
Third Head of Discourse
Now, when they heard his words, they rose,
And drove him forth into the night
With many bitter words like blows;
And said that all would now be right,
That all their trouble now would cease,
And all the house be full of peace.
And drove him forth into the night
With many bitter words like blows;
And said that all would now be right,
That all their trouble now would cease,
And all the house be full of peace.
Yet in the dark and in the cold,
Out in the night among the dews,
He ceased not fresh discourse to hold
Amid the limes and elms and yews;
It was “a still small voice,” and yet
They heard it in the wind and wet.
Out in the night among the dews,
He ceased not fresh discourse to hold
Amid the limes and elms and yews;
It was “a still small voice,” and yet
They heard it in the wind and wet.
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He wandered there among the trees,
Or in the day, or in the dark,
And in the whistling of the breeze
They heard him singing like a lark;
He is our Father dear, he cried,
And for the love of man He died.
Or in the day, or in the dark,
And in the whistling of the breeze
They heard him singing like a lark;
He is our Father dear, he cried,
And for the love of man He died.
And somehow, ever as he sang,
It seemed as if the great Book shone,
And mystic, pleading voices rang
About the rooms of vaulted stone,
And tears were on the pictured face,
And it was like a haunted place.
It seemed as if the great Book shone,
And mystic, pleading voices rang
About the rooms of vaulted stone,
And tears were on the pictured face,
And it was like a haunted place.
But they went on as they had done,
Still eating of the earth's increase,
Laughing or lounging in the sun,
And vowing that they had great peace;
But no one heeded now the old
Strange story that the wise men told.
Still eating of the earth's increase,
Laughing or lounging in the sun,
And vowing that they had great peace;
But no one heeded now the old
Strange story that the wise men told.
And yet the wise men were content,
And said that they had faithful been;
And to the chamber door they went,
Though not by them the lights were seen,
And read the Book and sang and prayed,
And ate their viands undismayed.
And said that they had faithful been;
And to the chamber door they went,
Though not by them the lights were seen,
And read the Book and sang and prayed,
And ate their viands undismayed.
Fourth Head of Discourse
Ah! which is truth? The sovereign Will
That worketh out a purpose vast,
Beyond our ken, to end at last
In severance of the good and ill?
That worketh out a purpose vast,
Beyond our ken, to end at last
In severance of the good and ill?
Or love that sweetly would enfold
All creatures in a large embrace,
And with the tears that blot its face,
Blot also out their sins untold?
All creatures in a large embrace,
And with the tears that blot its face,
Blot also out their sins untold?
Dear story of the Cross and Book!
Is it our fabling hearts that speak
Fond dreams in Thee? and shall we seek,
In vain, through every field and nook
Is it our fabling hearts that speak
Fond dreams in Thee? and shall we seek,
In vain, through every field and nook
Of Nature for a witness true,
Affirming what thy words have said
Of Him who liveth, and was dead,
And liveth to make all things new?
Affirming what thy words have said
Of Him who liveth, and was dead,
And liveth to make all things new?
In vain, we try to reconcile
His hapless lot with love divine,
Who born with taint of lust or wine,
Is brought up in the lap of guile,
His hapless lot with love divine,
Who born with taint of lust or wine,
Is brought up in the lap of guile,
And gets no chance: his infant eyes
Look out on riot, vice, and hate,
And lies and blood, and horrors great,
And learn to look without surprise.
Look out on riot, vice, and hate,
And lies and blood, and horrors great,
And learn to look without surprise.
And yet I hold with them who say
That God is love, and God is light;
But this is faith, it is not sight,
And waiteth, hoping for the day.
That God is love, and God is light;
But this is faith, it is not sight,
And waiteth, hoping for the day.
'Tis vain to wrestle with the doubt,
Or think to reason it away,
As well go wrestle with the grey
Cold mist that creeps the hills about.
Or think to reason it away,
As well go wrestle with the grey
Cold mist that creeps the hills about.
Yet I can trust, and hope and praise,
Weary and dark as is the road,
Because I see the heart of God,
When on the bitter Cross I gaze.
Weary and dark as is the road,
Because I see the heart of God,
When on the bitter Cross I gaze.
O fellest deed of wrath and wrong!
Yet in thine evil-seeming slept
A large assurance, that hath kept
The Faith of goodness calm and strong.
Yet in thine evil-seeming slept
A large assurance, that hath kept
The Faith of goodness calm and strong.
ELIJAH
It was the great Elijah in the chariot of heaven,
With the horses of Jehovah, by a mighty angel driven,
And the chariot wheels were rushing 'mid a mist of fiery spray,
Through glory of the night to higher glory of the day.
With the horses of Jehovah, by a mighty angel driven,
And the chariot wheels were rushing 'mid a mist of fiery spray,
Through glory of the night to higher glory of the day.
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It was the great Elijah—but meek and still was he,
For he trembled at the glory which his flesh was soon to see,
Going, girdled in his sackcloth, as the prophets were arrayed,
To the splendour of the Presence where the angels are dismayed.
For he trembled at the glory which his flesh was soon to see,
Going, girdled in his sackcloth, as the prophets were arrayed,
To the splendour of the Presence where the angels are dismayed.
Unwonted was the honour which his Master would accord
To his true and faithful witness, bravest servant of the Lord;
Yet better had he borne, I trow, the sad, old human way
Of entering by the gates of Death into eternal day.
To his true and faithful witness, bravest servant of the Lord;
Yet better had he borne, I trow, the sad, old human way
Of entering by the gates of Death into eternal day.
Aye, better had he borne to turn his face unto the wall,
With his kindred in their kindness gathered round him, one and all,
And to lie down with his fathers in the dust for some brief space;
For the death, he once had dreaded, now appeared a tender grace.
With his kindred in their kindness gathered round him, one and all,
And to lie down with his fathers in the dust for some brief space;
For the death, he once had dreaded, now appeared a tender grace.
It was the great Elijah; and the form that would dilate
In the presence of King Ahab, and his Councillors of State,
Now bowed its head in lowliness, as if it dared not cope
With the terror of the glory, and the wonder of the hope.
In the presence of King Ahab, and his Councillors of State,
Now bowed its head in lowliness, as if it dared not cope
With the terror of the glory, and the wonder of the hope.
Away from earth they travelled; yet he somehow seemed to know
The road, as if his weary steps had trod it long ago:
And was not that the wilderness to which he once had fled?
And that the lonely juniper where he had wished him dead?
The road, as if his weary steps had trod it long ago:
And was not that the wilderness to which he once had fled?
And that the lonely juniper where he had wished him dead?
And was not that the cave where he had sat in sullen mood,
Until he heard the “still small voice” that touched his heart with good?
And was not that the road by which from Carmel he had run
Before the chariot of the king about the set of sun?
Until he heard the “still small voice” that touched his heart with good?
And was not that the road by which from Carmel he had run
Before the chariot of the king about the set of sun?
Yea, God was backward leading him to heaven along the path
Which he had erewhile travelled o'er in fear or grief or wrath,
That by its mingled memories his heart He might prepare
For the grandeur and the glory and the crown he was to wear.
Which he had erewhile travelled o'er in fear or grief or wrath,
That by its mingled memories his heart He might prepare
For the grandeur and the glory and the crown he was to wear.
Now, as they drove, careering, with the fire-flakes round the wheels,
And the sparks that rushed like shooting stars from the horses' flashing heels,
Lo! he was aware of a throng of men lay strewn along the road;
And straight at them the angel drave the chariot of God.
And the sparks that rushed like shooting stars from the horses' flashing heels,
Lo! he was aware of a throng of men lay strewn along the road;
And straight at them the angel drave the chariot of God.
“Stay, stay!” then cried Elijah, “rein up the fiery steeds;
They will mangle those poor people lying there like bruised reeds;
See, they stir not; they are sleeping; or their thoughts are far away,
And they do not hear the wheels of God to whom perchance they pray.
They will mangle those poor people lying there like bruised reeds;
See, they stir not; they are sleeping; or their thoughts are far away,
And they do not hear the wheels of God to whom perchance they pray.
“Full oft have I been praying so, and chiding His delay,
And lo! the work was done, or ere my lips had ceased to pray;
For our ears are dull of hearing; stay, and put them not to proof
Beneath the grinding of the wheel, and trampling of the hoof.”
And lo! the work was done, or ere my lips had ceased to pray;
For our ears are dull of hearing; stay, and put them not to proof
Beneath the grinding of the wheel, and trampling of the hoof.”
“Nay, it boots not,” said the angel, “they are but the ghosts of
#those
Three hundred priests of Baalim who fell beneath thy blows
That glorious day on Carmel; let them perish, as they cry
To the gods that cannot help them when they live, or when they die.
Three hundred priests of Baalim who fell beneath thy blows
That glorious day on Carmel; let them perish, as they cry
To the gods that cannot help them when they live, or when they die.
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“Drive on, ye horses of the Lord, across the weltering throng,
It is the great Elijah ye are bearing now along,
Let them see him once again in the triumph of his faith,
And hear the bitter mockery, and taste the bitter death.”
It is the great Elijah ye are bearing now along,
Let them see him once again in the triumph of his faith,
And hear the bitter mockery, and taste the bitter death.”
It was the great Elijah, the prophet stern and grand,
Faithful only to Jehovah he in all the faithless land,
Zealous even unto slaughter for the God of Israel
'Gainst Ahab and the minions of the Tyrian Jezebel.
Faithful only to Jehovah he in all the faithless land,
Zealous even unto slaughter for the God of Israel
'Gainst Ahab and the minions of the Tyrian Jezebel.
But he answered, “Stay thy running, and let me here descend,
For the Lord has brought me hither surely for this very end:
Ah! this thing I had forgotten—day of glory and of dole—
And I wist not what did ail me, but its weight was on my soul.”
For the Lord has brought me hither surely for this very end:
Ah! this thing I had forgotten—day of glory and of dole—
And I wist not what did ail me, but its weight was on my soul.”
Then he stept down from the chariot, looking oh, so meek and mild,
For the burden of the glory made him humble as a child;
And he lifted up the prostrate head of one and then another,
For the burden of the greatness made him tender as a mother.
For the burden of the glory made him humble as a child;
And he lifted up the prostrate head of one and then another,
For the burden of the greatness made him tender as a mother.
“Ye priests of ancient Sidon, and of purple Tyre,” he cried,
“I have heard a still small voice that hushed the storms of wrath and pride,
And God who was not in the fire, and was not in the wind,
Was in the still small voice that spake to the unquiet mind.
“I have heard a still small voice that hushed the storms of wrath and pride,
And God who was not in the fire, and was not in the wind,
Was in the still small voice that spake to the unquiet mind.
“O worshippers of Ashtaroth, and priests of Baalim,
I thought to please Jehovah, and I only grievèd Him;
I flouted you, and mocked you, and I deemed that I did well
When I smote you in the name of Him, the God of Israel.
I thought to please Jehovah, and I only grievèd Him;
I flouted you, and mocked you, and I deemed that I did well
When I smote you in the name of Him, the God of Israel.
“But He hath no pleasure in the death of any man that dies,
He delighteth not in blood or smoke of such a sacrifice;
Yea, not a worm is crushed, but the writhings of its pain
Touch a chord of His great pity who made nothing live in vain.
He delighteth not in blood or smoke of such a sacrifice;
Yea, not a worm is crushed, but the writhings of its pain
Touch a chord of His great pity who made nothing live in vain.
“He had patience with thee, Sidon, and patience I had none;
For the art of Tyre, perchance, He let the sin of Tyre alone,
Something He saw to stay His wrath; but I would nothing see;
Ye were the Priests of Jezebel, and hateful unto me.
For the art of Tyre, perchance, He let the sin of Tyre alone,
Something He saw to stay His wrath; but I would nothing see;
Ye were the Priests of Jezebel, and hateful unto me.
“I did not think how hard it is to find the way of truth;
I did not think how hard it is to shake the faith of youth;
Yet, if I was walking in the light, the credit was not mine,
But God's who in His grace to me had made the light to shine.
I did not think how hard it is to shake the faith of youth;
Yet, if I was walking in the light, the credit was not mine,
But God's who in His grace to me had made the light to shine.
“If ye were walking in the dark, and I was in the light,
I should have brought its help to you, and plied you with its might;
But I made my heart a flaming fire, my tongue a bitter rod,
And I did not hear the still small voice which is the voice of God.
I should have brought its help to you, and plied you with its might;
But I made my heart a flaming fire, my tongue a bitter rod,
And I did not hear the still small voice which is the voice of God.
“I said ye might have right to live in Tyre beside the sea,
But not in high Samaria, or fertile Galilee;
And I smote you there on Carmel, as I thought, by His commands,
But I smote my own heart also when your blood was on my hands.
But not in high Samaria, or fertile Galilee;
And I smote you there on Carmel, as I thought, by His commands,
But I smote my own heart also when your blood was on my hands.
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“For the strength departed from me as the pity in me died,
And in an unloved loneliness I nursed unhallowed pride;
And I wist there was none faithful on the earth, but only I,
And sat beneath the juniper, and prayed that I might die.
And in an unloved loneliness I nursed unhallowed pride;
And I wist there was none faithful on the earth, but only I,
And sat beneath the juniper, and prayed that I might die.
“For Jezebel and Ahab did as they had done before,
And the idols were exalted, and idolaters were more,
And the land was nothing better for the blood that had been shed,
And I sat beneath the juniper, and wished that I were dead.
And the idols were exalted, and idolaters were more,
And the land was nothing better for the blood that had been shed,
And I sat beneath the juniper, and wished that I were dead.
“Then it was I heard the still small voice, and bowed me to the ground,
Humbled by the gracious burden of the mercy I had found,
But I may not enter into rest, or with the Lord abide,
Till ye humble with your pardon him that smote you in his pride.”
Humbled by the gracious burden of the mercy I had found,
But I may not enter into rest, or with the Lord abide,
Till ye humble with your pardon him that smote you in his pride.”
Then, one by one, he bore them gently from the angel's way,
And, one by one, he laid them down, and kissed them where they lay;
And he never was so human as in his meekness then,
And he never was so godlike till he was like other men.
And, one by one, he laid them down, and kissed them where they lay;
And he never was so human as in his meekness then,
And he never was so godlike till he was like other men.
And he said in yearning pity, “Oh that I might die for you,
Hapless souls that are in darkness, and who know not what they do!”
And the tearful eye was swimming, and he heaved a weary sigh;—
He was very near to glory with that great tear in his eye.
Hapless souls that are in darkness, and who know not what they do!”
And the tearful eye was swimming, and he heaved a weary sigh;—
He was very near to glory with that great tear in his eye.
And the angel in his chariot sat, and watched him toiling long,
And the angel's face shone radiant, and he broke into a song;
For the choicest songs of angels are the anthems that begin
With the sorrow of a contrite heart a-breaking for its sin.
And the angel's face shone radiant, and he broke into a song;
For the choicest songs of angels are the anthems that begin
With the sorrow of a contrite heart a-breaking for its sin.
And ever as the prophet wept, the angel sang more loud,
And his face was shining more, the more the prophet's head was bowed;
Until the task was ended, and the flesh was crucified,
When lo! they were at the gate of heaven, and the door was opened wide.
And his face was shining more, the more the prophet's head was bowed;
Until the task was ended, and the flesh was crucified,
When lo! they were at the gate of heaven, and the door was opened wide.
Lo! they were at the gate of heaven, and there a mighty throng,
Ten thousand times ten thousand, raised their shout, and sang their song,
But the Lord remembered he was flesh, and downcast for his sin,
And Enoch who had walked with God came forth to lead him in.
Ten thousand times ten thousand, raised their shout, and sang their song,
But the Lord remembered he was flesh, and downcast for his sin,
And Enoch who had walked with God came forth to lead him in.
| The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith | |