The Year of the World A Philosophical Poem on "Redemption from The Fall". By William B. Scott |
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 | The Year of the World |  |
III.
So muttered the good demons, good yet wrong—
Good—for ambition is the thirst for better,
And in an untried waste all paths explores;
Wrong—for a part is not the whole—nor sense
The avenue of spirit and of truth,
Nor happiness a conquest. But anon
The earth was overwhelmed with towers and shrines,
Various as insects, numerous as the stars,
Terrible as the soul of man. Behold!
Is it not still the same, a spectacle
Of wonder to the gods who visit us
From time to time, and who as yet have been
Only additions to these phantasies.
Good yet wrong—for sense remains the same,
Nor can man e'er be free but by the spirit,—
The Reason working by the Will, a will
Involuntary as the acts of Nature.
Good—for ambition is the thirst for better,
And in an untried waste all paths explores;
Wrong—for a part is not the whole—nor sense
The avenue of spirit and of truth,
Nor happiness a conquest. But anon
The earth was overwhelmed with towers and shrines,
Various as insects, numerous as the stars,
Terrible as the soul of man. Behold!
Is it not still the same, a spectacle
Of wonder to the gods who visit us
From time to time, and who as yet have been
Only additions to these phantasies.
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Nor can man e'er be free but by the spirit,—
The Reason working by the Will, a will
Involuntary as the acts of Nature.
This Will with co-existent force, a creed
Lends to the mind,—men call it Faith: the soul
Meanwhile, within its sanctuary void,
Remaining silent.
Lends to the mind,—men call it Faith: the soul
Meanwhile, within its sanctuary void,
Remaining silent.
Reader! it may be
Thy law of life to live by knowledge only;
And what cannot be known precisely, is not
At all to thee. If so, there are few words
Beyond experience for thee, and few truths
Beyond the outward. All that may not bear
This test thou callest mystical and vain.
I too would fain have knowledge for my guide,
In every day a common life to lead,
Conforming to the mould of time. But not
Utterly thus confined, I would revere
All language of the spirit, and announce
A mighty sphere, in which the Known revolves
Narrowly circumscribed; the mystical
Being the throes and longings of the soul
To realize this sphere to its own Present.
And, Reader! is not this thy faith likewise?
Some church or chapel hast thou not, with prayers;
Which, though thou may'st suppose thy reasoning reaches,
Yet leads thee inward to the Infinite?
Thy law of life to live by knowledge only;
And what cannot be known precisely, is not
At all to thee. If so, there are few words
Beyond experience for thee, and few truths
Beyond the outward. All that may not bear
This test thou callest mystical and vain.
I too would fain have knowledge for my guide,
In every day a common life to lead,
Conforming to the mould of time. But not
Utterly thus confined, I would revere
All language of the spirit, and announce
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Narrowly circumscribed; the mystical
Being the throes and longings of the soul
To realize this sphere to its own Present.
And, Reader! is not this thy faith likewise?
Some church or chapel hast thou not, with prayers;
Which, though thou may'st suppose thy reasoning reaches,
Yet leads thee inward to the Infinite?
Moreover, if this form which thou dost hold
Is unto thee the only form of life—
I also am thy brother, not by bond
Of sympathy, but being fixed like thee.
For hitherto my nature hath advanced
Steadily to a peaceful faith. And so,
(Because each man his own soul must redeem—
And only for those ready to receive
I write, whose eyes could speak to mine) at once,
I pray thee lay the book upon the shelf.
Is unto thee the only form of life—
I also am thy brother, not by bond
Of sympathy, but being fixed like thee.
For hitherto my nature hath advanced
Steadily to a peaceful faith. And so,
(Because each man his own soul must redeem—
And only for those ready to receive
I write, whose eyes could speak to mine) at once,
I pray thee lay the book upon the shelf.
This mystical, oh! is it not the food
Of hope which makes all nature glad; the gift
Of stars which recompenses us for night.
And fable is the garb which to our eyes
Makes visible the spiritual subtilties;
And poetry is the harmonious voice
Of thought and feeling, moving so together
That words acquire the bridal sound of song.
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Of stars which recompenses us for night.
And fable is the garb which to our eyes
Makes visible the spiritual subtilties;
And poetry is the harmonious voice
Of thought and feeling, moving so together
That words acquire the bridal sound of song.
| The Year of the World | |