 | At Sunset |  |
40
AFTER THE CONVENTION
Soft I hear the church bell tolling in the distance clear and warm,
Standing thought-bound in the hollow of my little Portsmouth farm.
I to church would not be going, here is church enough for me,
Let my ducks and geese give sermon and my brook make symphony.
Standing thought-bound in the hollow of my little Portsmouth farm.
I to church would not be going, here is church enough for me,
Let my ducks and geese give sermon and my brook make symphony.
What, profane one? art thou turning from the altar, from the creed?
Can the trees impress thy conscience and the bushes help thy need?
Oh! I come from days of talking, full of reasons long drawn out.
Now, God's minister of silence comes to compass me about.
Can the trees impress thy conscience and the bushes help thy need?
Oh! I come from days of talking, full of reasons long drawn out.
Now, God's minister of silence comes to compass me about.
My remembrance of the women! from the forehead crowned in white
Through the shadows brown and chestnut, to youth's tingling bloom and light;
And the thoughtful words they uttered, bright with fancy, fond with faith,
Firm with sober sense and resting upon truths that conquer death.
Through the shadows brown and chestnut, to youth's tingling bloom and light;
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Firm with sober sense and resting upon truths that conquer death.
But not alien to that meeting is this cluster of my trees,
Where I pick the fallen apple and attend the rustling breeze;
And the nuts are not yet gathered. Oh! the boys have need of them,
Feast thou only on the mirror pond and dazzling diadem!
Where I pick the fallen apple and attend the rustling breeze;
And the nuts are not yet gathered. Oh! the boys have need of them,
Feast thou only on the mirror pond and dazzling diadem!
They are praying as they stand there, not in doubt and not in fear,
Winter showing in the distance that shall make their beauty drear;
They endure with stern composure all the shifting of the sun,
Sighing oft the woman's whisper—let the will of God be done!
Winter showing in the distance that shall make their beauty drear;
They endure with stern composure all the shifting of the sun,
Sighing oft the woman's whisper—let the will of God be done!
No! an impulse stolen from summer lights them up before mine eyes
As its lovely Indian changeling wafts a thought of Paradise.
In the change of things diurnal they discern the changeless law,
And great life's eternal gospel thrills their heart with sudden awe.
As its lovely Indian changeling wafts a thought of Paradise.
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And great life's eternal gospel thrills their heart with sudden awe.
For that mighty truth gives freedom, far beyond the buds of spring,
And the swelling fruit of summer, and the autumn's gathering.
To the parent soul unswerving all things bud and blossom on,
And the summer's good departs not when the summer's breath is gone.
And the swelling fruit of summer, and the autumn's gathering.
To the parent soul unswerving all things bud and blossom on,
And the summer's good departs not when the summer's breath is gone.
So the maple flushes fervent, looking up to Heaven's blue ken,
So the purple ash beside her breathes its soberer Amen.
And the yellow oaks in copses, with a logic of their own,
Link the litany of autumn in a mellow monotone.
So the purple ash beside her breathes its soberer Amen.
And the yellow oaks in copses, with a logic of their own,
Link the litany of autumn in a mellow monotone.
Days may perish, life endureth—in the winter harsh and rude
May decline our outward beauty, not our inner power and word,
Spring shall bring us new rejoicing, autumn crown us where we stand,
When our cycles shall be numbered, still our seed shall keep the land.
May decline our outward beauty, not our inner power and word,
Spring shall bring us new rejoicing, autumn crown us where we stand,
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What the autumn trees can pray for? What the elder women say;
Straight from Thee our being cometh, Thou who livest now and aye.
Let us hold the precious essence, like pure vases void of blame,
Handing down its sweet conditions to the things that keep our name.
Straight from Thee our being cometh, Thou who livest now and aye.
Let us hold the precious essence, like pure vases void of blame,
Handing down its sweet conditions to the things that keep our name.
But the law of life is progress; as the forests bloom and grow,
So the fortunes of great womankind in onward sweep we know.
Grant us faith to gifts imparted in the viewing of the sun,
Faithful fruitage, true transmission, and the will of God is done!
So the fortunes of great womankind in onward sweep we know.
Grant us faith to gifts imparted in the viewing of the sun,
Faithful fruitage, true transmission, and the will of God is done!
| At Sunset | |