 | The various writings of Cornelius Mathews |  |
XVIII.
THE PREACHER.
Ever aslant the sky behold a shape,
Leaning at length upon the mastered air!
Man-like in form and yet divinely fair,
About his head a golden glory glows,
And fair as morning every feature shows.
His feet are toward the earth, and upward thrown
His stretched and yearning arms appeal to God;
With God he talks at that far height—with God alone.
Leaning at length upon the mastered air!
Man-like in form and yet divinely fair,
About his head a golden glory glows,
And fair as morning every feature shows.
His feet are toward the earth, and upward thrown
His stretched and yearning arms appeal to God;
With God he talks at that far height—with God alone.
Athwart all troubles of the day or night or clouds,
Athwart eclipse of sun or moon, or the dun tempest's shrouds—
Behold that radiant figure streaming,
'Twixt Earth and Heaven, and Heaven and Earth,
An angel mighty—meek as the swathed infant at its birth,
All the mid-region from its gloom redeeming.
'Tis Christ, 't is sacred Christ who there is beaming.
Oh, ye who sentried stand upon the temple-wall
Holy, and nearer to the glory's golden fall—
Athwart eclipse of sun or moon, or the dun tempest's shrouds—
Behold that radiant figure streaming,
'Twixt Earth and Heaven, and Heaven and Earth,
An angel mighty—meek as the swathed infant at its birth,
All the mid-region from its gloom redeeming.
'Tis Christ, 't is sacred Christ who there is beaming.
Oh, ye who sentried stand upon the temple-wall
Holy, and nearer to the glory's golden fall—
Moon-like possess and shed at large its rays—
The wide world knitting in a web of light,
Whose every thread the gladd'ning truth makes bright;
Peace, love and universal brotherhood,
Good will to man and faith in God the good.
Withered be he, the false one of the brood,
Who, husbandman of evil, scatters strife,
Brambling and harsh, upon the field of life:
But deeper cursed whose secret hand
Plucks on to doom the safeguards of the land,
Freedom, and civil forms and sacred Rights
That conscience owns: he, conscience-stung, who plights
His voice 'gainst these, should sheer-down fall
From off the glory of the temple-wall,
Smitten by God as false to truth and love
And all the sacred links that bind the heavens above
And man beneath: a withered Paul,
Apostleless, beyond recall!
The wide world knitting in a web of light,
Whose every thread the gladd'ning truth makes bright;
Peace, love and universal brotherhood,
Good will to man and faith in God the good.
Withered be he, the false one of the brood,
Who, husbandman of evil, scatters strife,
Brambling and harsh, upon the field of life:
But deeper cursed whose secret hand
160
Freedom, and civil forms and sacred Rights
That conscience owns: he, conscience-stung, who plights
His voice 'gainst these, should sheer-down fall
From off the glory of the temple-wall,
Smitten by God as false to truth and love
And all the sacred links that bind the heavens above
And man beneath: a withered Paul,
Apostleless, beyond recall!
Rather, with blessings and the bonds of life
Let Heaven's good workman bind together
The house that roofs us on this dear, dear plot of earth,
An arbor in the genial sun,
A stronghold in the tyrannous weather:
Kindly and loving brothren every one,
All equal—all alike who thither tend,
Where all may dwell together without end—
And as our course must be, so let it be begun.
Let Heaven's good workman bind together
The house that roofs us on this dear, dear plot of earth,
An arbor in the genial sun,
A stronghold in the tyrannous weather:
Kindly and loving brothren every one,
All equal—all alike who thither tend,
Where all may dwell together without end—
And as our course must be, so let it be begun.
But shrink not, therefore, from the coward age,
That shows, in mockery shows, its hideous face at times,
And crosses with its cursed din the very sabbath-chimes;
O, smite and buffet with a holy rage
Its brassy cheeks and brow of icy coldness—
Dash and confound it with the storm-cloud's boldness
That frowns and speaks till every house-roof trembles,
And face to face no more dissembles
The God-fear coiled within the crusted heart!
Brandish the truth and let its four-edged dart
Cut to the quick, and, cut through every armor,
Unbosom to the light the Satan-charmer!
That shows, in mockery shows, its hideous face at times,
And crosses with its cursed din the very sabbath-chimes;
O, smite and buffet with a holy rage
Its brassy cheeks and brow of icy coldness—
Dash and confound it with the storm-cloud's boldness
That frowns and speaks till every house-roof trembles,
And face to face no more dissembles
The God-fear coiled within the crusted heart!
Brandish the truth and let its four-edged dart
Cut to the quick, and, cut through every armor,
Unbosom to the light the Satan-charmer!
Ye holy Voices sphered in middle air!
Lower than angels, nor as they so fair,
Yet quiring God's behest with truth and power—
Pitch your blest speech, or high or low,
That angels may its language own and know,
Through the round Heaven to which it rises,
And ever on the earth may fall in glad surprises,
The spring-sweet music of a sudden shower.
Heaven shall bless thee and the earth shall bless,
And up through the close, dark death-hour thou shall spring
With fragrant parting, and heaven-cleaving wing—
To ask, nor ask in vain, thy Christ's caress!
Lower than angels, nor as they so fair,
Yet quiring God's behest with truth and power—
Pitch your blest speech, or high or low,
That angels may its language own and know,
Through the round Heaven to which it rises,
And ever on the earth may fall in glad surprises,
The spring-sweet music of a sudden shower.
Heaven shall bless thee and the earth shall bless,
And up through the close, dark death-hour thou shall spring
With fragrant parting, and heaven-cleaving wing—
To ask, nor ask in vain, thy Christ's caress!
| The various writings of Cornelius Mathews | |