Madmoments: or First Verseattempts :: :: University of Virginia Library

Hast thou remarked the purpleclustered Vine
In Autumn, thus so meekly, silently,
With its rich Fruitage thanking thee for thy
Long Care of it? and is there naught divine
In this its Silence? speaks it not to thine
Own Heart? and if it had a Voice, whereby
To tell its Gratitude, could it reply
More godlike or intelligibly? shine
Not too the Stars with stillymodest Rays,
The Good they do their only Hymn of Praise?
And when thou pluck'st the ripe Grapes, does it ask
One least, least Recompense? it only lays
Aside its Treasures, meekly to its Task
Gathers its Strength within, and 'neath the Mask
Of deathlike Winter, 'till the coming Spring
Shall bid its Blossoms in the Sunshine bask,
Fulfills its godlike End unmurmuring!

2.

And thou, oh Man! wilt thou not act likewise?
Or shall the Flowers of the Field do more
Than thee with all thy Wisdom and vain Lore?
If Nature in thee first alone doth rise
To sublime Consciousness of Mysteries
Hid from all other Beings: if before
Thy godlike Eye this World, with all it bore
And bears, be as a Glass where it descries
The Forms of coming Things shown visibly,

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Shadows cast down beforehand: Echos clear
That come from and fade in Eternity,
Which in the vast Bell we at all Times hear;
If the invisible Things of God are by
The visible revealed to thy sole Eye,
Then let that Consciousness in thee appear,
The Consciousness of wherefore thou art here?
For when thou workëst out most consciously
That End, then art thou too most godlike, ne'er
For getting in thyself the Deity!

3.

In this so lovely World their destined Aim
All Things work out, unconscious it may be,
Yet still they work it out as sure as thee,
Yea! surer with their Instinct, than, oh Shame!
Thou with thy Reason! with the Sword and Flame
Thou mar'st his Works, and oh! because thus free,
Because more godlike than all else that he
Has made, wilt thou alone belie thy Name?
Oh! if the human Soul within thee could
Work out the Godlike but as steadily,
As stilly, as that Vine does what it should
After its Kind, and knowing not the why
Or wherefore, but content with doing Good,
How bless'd wert thou in like Simplicity!

4.

Couldst thou but bear thy Gooddeeds as it does
Its Fruits upon its Branches, within Reach
Of all, yea! e'en the Child's! or could'st thou teach
Thy proud Heart to do even as the Rose,
Which casts its Perfume on the Air, nor knows
When next the Dew may fall! how all Things preach
In Language so, so eloquent, what each
In its high Maker's Service to him owes!
Not e'en the Bramble bears its Thorns in vain,
But inculcates this Moral with the Pain

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It gives the rude Grasp, that not by brute Might,
But holy Gentleness, we surest gain
The End proposed, thus ever in our Sight
The Hand of God himself directs us right!

5.

There is no Word to utter all that the
Deep Soul contains: and God himself doth know
(Nay, this it is that makes his Godhead) no,
No other Way to utter all that he
Feels, frames, thinks, save by thro' all Things that be
Making some Portion of his ownself flow:
He is the Unspeakable! therefore below
The Soul that feels him most, is that which we
Hear speaking least of Him, is that which least
Can utter what it feels! the Deity
Takes to himself the undivided Breast,
And sends a holy Tear unto the Eye,
The best Blood to the Pulse, thus to attest
The Godlike, which must still unuttered lie!

6.

The Low, the Common, that is loud not deep,
The Love that bears no Fruit, but only Flower,
Is cradled, coffined, in one fleeting Hour,
And dwells much on the Lip, which it will steep
With honeyed Falsehoods—but that which can keep
The Heart warm in old Age, that dies before
It utters half of what within it bore,
E'en by its Deeds, not Words! it can but weep
And smile unutterable Things, and press
The Heart it loves in holy Consciousness,
Deeper and sweeter from its Secrecy!
Like unto God, in pure Meekheartedness
Creating from afar the Good whereby
It seeks all in its Influence to bless;
Or like some Star lost in the distant Sky,
But shining on contented not the less,

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Yea! nearer, dearer unto God's clear Eye,
Because thus hid from mortal Littleness!

7.

Then thou, dear Soul, go home to thy poor Cot,
Content and happy with whatever Lot
The Heavens assign thee, for therein thou still,
Tho' but four narrow Walls embrace the Spot,
Canst work out all the Godlike, and fulfill
Thy Being's Aim, as well as if the Span
Of this widereaching Universe were thine!
Go, kiss the Brow of her who at thy Door
Meets thee, and of thy little ones, and feel,
Yea! with thine in most Heart, I tell thee feel
That which thy Want makes but still more divine,
The Consciousness of being «quite a Man!»
Nor call thyself but for one moment poor,
For that were Blasphemy! but break thy Bread,
And ask thy Father's Blessing, and then see
If'round thy Wife's and each Child's little Head,
A Glory, like an Angel's, be not spread:
And if thou seest it not, the Fault's in thee!
Then ask thy deep Heart what it feels, and sure
Twill say, I feel the quite Unspeakable,
Yea! God Himself! and more I cannot tell!