XXXIII
THE PREFACE
Nature itself is made in our own likeness.
Mirrors of Manhood
Man's soul itself beholds in every glass
And its own speech discerns in every tone;
All Nature voices what he is and was
And will be—equally in star or stone.
Man gives its parable to every stream;
If “running brooks” are books, he writes, he reads;
If stones are sermons, he provides their theme,
And with himself in these he speaks, he pleads.
No living tongue but his was ever heard;
Still Nature stood till he, an exile, came,
Bringing dim echoes of an older word
And fragments of a now unutter'd name.
For though he speaks and speech imparts to all,
That which he would he cannot hear or say,
And pale reflections of his own long call
Tortures, to draw their inward sense to day.
His outward tumult fills his ears in vain
And down his own vast depths in vain he cries:
Perchance the still profundities explain
That which exceeds all words, however wise.
Perchance his speech withdrawn from things outside,
And all resounding caverns hush'd within,
That which the clamours from his soul divide
May to draw nigh and to commune begin.
It is a long watch to the morning, but it is also a sure
one. The powers and the glories are with us in the great
vigil, and the darkness of the night intervening is no ground
for doubt in the heart.
