 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
ODE.
EPODE I. a.
Eternal Reason! Effluence from God!
All hail to thy regenerating power!
On crimson fields where guilty men have trod
Thou pourest down, to purify, thy shower.
Old systems, rotten with pollution long,
Before thy rising star are waning fast;
In palace-chambers, at the feet of Wrong
The gage of bloodless battle hath been cast.
Moans in this dreary wilderness of woe
By thee are changed to music soft and low,
For thou art parent of ennobling deeds,
Binding up broken reeds;
Dull Ignorance hath heard thy loud appeal;
His soul begins to feel
Faint throb of immortality at last—
A vibratory motion that precedes
The rending might of Truth's electric shock,
That soon will crush his gyves, as powder blasts the rock.
All hail to thy regenerating power!
On crimson fields where guilty men have trod
Thou pourest down, to purify, thy shower.
Old systems, rotten with pollution long,
Before thy rising star are waning fast;
In palace-chambers, at the feet of Wrong
The gage of bloodless battle hath been cast.
Moans in this dreary wilderness of woe
By thee are changed to music soft and low,
For thou art parent of ennobling deeds,
Binding up broken reeds;
Dull Ignorance hath heard thy loud appeal;
His soul begins to feel
Faint throb of immortality at last—
A vibratory motion that precedes
The rending might of Truth's electric shock,
That soon will crush his gyves, as powder blasts the rock.
EPODE II. a.
Bright essence of all purity, whose mansion
Is in the hall of every human heart;
Agent that giveth thought sublime expansion,
A day-beam from the great White Throne thou art.
Echoes that shake our mortal prison-bars,
Gentle forewhisperings of future life,
Of perfect bliss beyond the holy stars,
When ended turmoil and this fever-strife—
Are emanations from that well of wells
Where dread Omniscience utters oracles;
As gush sweet waters from a mountain spring,
And cool the valleys, summer-parched, below,
Companioned by the zephyr wandering;
So all that scarred earth boasts of good and fair,
Her green spots in the desert of despair,
To thee, to thee we owe!
Is in the hall of every human heart;
Agent that giveth thought sublime expansion,
A day-beam from the great White Throne thou art.
272
Gentle forewhisperings of future life,
Of perfect bliss beyond the holy stars,
When ended turmoil and this fever-strife—
Are emanations from that well of wells
Where dread Omniscience utters oracles;
As gush sweet waters from a mountain spring,
And cool the valleys, summer-parched, below,
Companioned by the zephyr wandering;
So all that scarred earth boasts of good and fair,
Her green spots in the desert of despair,
To thee, to thee we owe!
STROPHE a. I.
When man's immortal nature yearns
From low desires of dust to flee,
Proudly before him moves and burns
A glowing column reared by thee:
Thou art his monitor within—
A wakeful warder on his spirit's wall,
When the persuasive tongue of sin
Chants in his ear some dulcet madrigal.
Thrilled by thy voice his harp the poet strings,
Clouds from his golden pathway driven,
While sailing upward on ethereal wings
He lives awhile in heaven:
Prompted by thee his blade the patriot draws,
And throws the sheath away—
Philosophy tracks consequence to cause,
And fills the caves of ancient night with day.
From low desires of dust to flee,
Proudly before him moves and burns
A glowing column reared by thee:
Thou art his monitor within—
A wakeful warder on his spirit's wall,
When the persuasive tongue of sin
Chants in his ear some dulcet madrigal.
Thrilled by thy voice his harp the poet strings,
Clouds from his golden pathway driven,
While sailing upward on ethereal wings
He lives awhile in heaven:
Prompted by thee his blade the patriot draws,
And throws the sheath away—
Philosophy tracks consequence to cause,
And fills the caves of ancient night with day.
STROPHE b. II.
Calm element of light in human kind!
As Dian sways the pulses of the sea,
Tuning its tide to strains of harmony,
Soon will thy beams control the deep of mind.
Prophetic murmurs on the wind are borne,
Signs are abroad, and banners are unfurled:
Be comforted, ye wretched ones that mourn,
Another morn is dawning on the world!
Mysterious hands are lifting up the veil,
And clank of breaking chains is heard afar—
Robbed of his crested helm and polished mail!
In myrtle bower reclines the slumbering god of war.
As Dian sways the pulses of the sea,
Tuning its tide to strains of harmony,
Soon will thy beams control the deep of mind.
273
Signs are abroad, and banners are unfurled:
Be comforted, ye wretched ones that mourn,
Another morn is dawning on the world!
Mysterious hands are lifting up the veil,
And clank of breaking chains is heard afar—
Robbed of his crested helm and polished mail!
In myrtle bower reclines the slumbering god of war.
ANTISTROPHE. a.
A fructifying radiance gilds the gloom,
And precious seeds of peace are springing up;
For Evil, Right is scooping out a tomb,
And Joy is dropping balm in Sorrow's cup;
The windows of the Future, partly raised,
Reveal the foreground of a view unmarred
By one deforming object, and high bard
On a recovered paradise hath gazed:
Love will yet melt the hardened ice
That chills the breast of Avarice;
Wolves on the trail of Want will cease to prowl,
And Hate will lose his black, appalling scowl;
Earth, full of years and graves, will wear once more
A lustrous, primal beauty on her brow;
From her green face, with flowers enamelled o'er,
One stainless altar rise, and round it bow
A rosy brotherhood of glorious forms;
The sun, from his blue watch-tower in the sky,
Will look on land and sea with golden eye,
Rejoicing in the flight of clouds and driving storms.
And precious seeds of peace are springing up;
For Evil, Right is scooping out a tomb,
And Joy is dropping balm in Sorrow's cup;
The windows of the Future, partly raised,
Reveal the foreground of a view unmarred
By one deforming object, and high bard
On a recovered paradise hath gazed:
Love will yet melt the hardened ice
That chills the breast of Avarice;
Wolves on the trail of Want will cease to prowl,
And Hate will lose his black, appalling scowl;
Earth, full of years and graves, will wear once more
A lustrous, primal beauty on her brow;
From her green face, with flowers enamelled o'er,
One stainless altar rise, and round it bow
A rosy brotherhood of glorious forms;
The sun, from his blue watch-tower in the sky,
Will look on land and sea with golden eye,
Rejoicing in the flight of clouds and driving storms.
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |