The poetical works of Lucy Larcom | ||
305
THE LILY OF THE RESURRECTION.
While the lily dwells in earth,
Walled about with crumbling mould,
She the secret of her birth
Guesses not, nor has been told.
Walled about with crumbling mould,
She the secret of her birth
Guesses not, nor has been told.
Hides the brown bulb in the ground,
Knowing not she is a flower;
Knowing not she shall be crowned
As a queen, with white-robed power.
Knowing not she is a flower;
Knowing not she shall be crowned
As a queen, with white-robed power.
Though her whole life is one thrill
Upward, unto skies unseen,
In her husks she wraps her still,
Wondering what her visions mean.
Upward, unto skies unseen,
In her husks she wraps her still,
Wondering what her visions mean.
Shivering, while the bursting scales
Leave her heart bare, with a sigh
She her unclad state bewails,
Whispering to herself, “I die.”
Leave her heart bare, with a sigh
She her unclad state bewails,
Whispering to herself, “I die.”
Die? Then may she welcome death,
Leaving darkness underground,
Breathing out her sweet, free breath
Into the new heavens around.
Leaving darkness underground,
Breathing out her sweet, free breath
Into the new heavens around.
Die? She bathes in ether warm:
Beautiful without, within,
See at last the imprisoned form
All its fair proportions win!
Beautiful without, within,
See at last the imprisoned form
All its fair proportions win!
Life it means, this impulse high
Which through every rootlet stirs:
Lo! the sunshine and the sky
She was made for, now are hers!
Which through every rootlet stirs:
Lo! the sunshine and the sky
She was made for, now are hers!
Soul, thou too art set in earth,
Heavenward through the dark to grow:
Dreamest thou of thy royal birth?
Climb! and thou shalt surely know.
Heavenward through the dark to grow:
Dreamest thou of thy royal birth?
Climb! and thou shalt surely know.
Shuddering Doubt to Nature cries,—
Nature, though she smiles, is dumb,—
“How then can the dead arise?
With what body do they come?”
Nature, though she smiles, is dumb,—
“How then can the dead arise?
With what body do they come?”
Lo, the unfolding mystery!
We shall bloom, some wondrous hour,
As the lily blooms, when she
Dies a bulb, to live a flower!
We shall bloom, some wondrous hour,
As the lily blooms, when she
Dies a bulb, to live a flower!
The poetical works of Lucy Larcom | ||