University of Virginia Library


85

THE RETURN OF SPRING

LENT, 1892
The nightingales have come: I heard them talking,
Last evening to each other loud and late;
Early this morning in my garden walking,
The daffodil was golden at the gate.
O nightingales, what tidings do you bring
From a far land? Your speech is not as ours;
You know perchance this secret of the spring,
For which I languish through the lonely hours.
Perhaps it is not from a far-off land,—
But very near, and with an open door;
If I your language could but understand,
I too might find the way, and grieve no more.
Ye know! ye know! for all the air is ringing
With your sweet story in an unknown tongue;
And that mysterious message, ye are bringing
From the world's soul, in sorrow is not sung.
O creatures of the air, allied more nearly
To wingèd spirits, and to souls made free,
Ye, sharing of their life, may see more clearly
What ye would utter in your minstrelsy.

86

O violets, that are crowding one another,
Blue, from the earth where you have lain asleep!
What heard you in the bosom of our mother?
What of our treasure she was given to keep?
Pink on the bough the almond buds are breaking,
Deep-drawn the sap to sky and air unfurled.
What can they tell? For news our hearts are aching
Out of the upper and the under world.
The buds, the birds, the West winds are returning:
Whence come they? They have no interpreter.—
What has this spring for us but tears and mourning?
What answer can our hearts put forth to her?
The time is Lent—no fast we need be keeping;
Beneath God's heavy hand we moan apart;
Bitter our bread, our eyes are blind with weeping;
The hand is gone that bound the broken heart.
But O my Father, do we grudge thy guerdon?
Thou who wast patient with us for so long;
Didst thou not say, ‘I have laid down my burden?’
We could not do thee in our hearts this wrong.
They keep the feast, they keep the feast in Heaven!
The Blessèd in their mansions are more blest;
What is the song of Saints, the welcome given
To him who comes to be their wedding guest?
Each one salutes thee, on the way thou farest,
By thine own name, thy name that is to be;
I may not call thee by the name thou bearest,
By my obedience this was laid on me.

87

I saw thee once, once only, kneel in praying
Before the altar unto Christ thy Lord;
I heard thee name His name, once only, staying
To raise thy hand in reverence at the word.
I heard and saw, I saw no more, the raining
Of sudden awestruck tears obscured my sight;
But ever since the vision is remaining
Of that transfigured face of love and light.
But oh! what dare we dream of that embracing,
When Jesus, Father of the World to come,
Himself receives thee in His arms, and facing
His unveiled presence thou art kneeling dumb?
Surely His bliss ineffable is burning
Brighter, even His, because in Heaven thou art;
Has He not waited for thee, even with yearning
Like thine, O Servant of the Sacred Heart!
I know not how it is—I see thee pass
In a green land of spring that is not ours;
Still waters flow amid the even grass,
Thy white robe brushes the narcissus flowers;
Blue hills of Heaven the far horizon gird,
And all is clear; the trees upon the plain
Are almond trees full-blossomed; and unheard,
Unheeded, falls on thee a rosy rain.
And other trees are white, all white, above thee,
Like cherry trees against the blue sky there;
Oh! could we wish thee with us, we who love thee,
Remembering thy palace gaunt and bare?

88

The sheep are feeding in the level pastures,
They lift their heads, and stand, and follow thee;
Thou seest them not, thine eyes are to thy Master's,
And to the vision of Eternity.
It was the glory of the sunset lightened
The heavenly, heavenward face which here we saw;
Now in the East the morning skies are whitened,
To which thou turnest with a rapturous awe.
One hastens towards thee with an eager greeting,
An angel face that once upon me smiled;
Smiled at my knee—oh! could I see your meeting,
My lost, my best, my Father and my Child!
So old, so young—they were the fairest faces
I ever saw, or ever here shall see:—
The same turf covers them in distant places;
Where'er they are, God grant that I may be!