 | Verse in bloom |  |
58
THE QUEST IN THE VINEYARDS
'Tis often asked of me if I desire,
Through an advantage somehow won from Death,
To struggle back to heartbeats from the grave
(When Time has won his victory over breath
And Passion's double furnace and that brave
Conjunction of a god and of a slave
Here known as Man) and be alert once more
On a globe throbbing with surprises.
Through an advantage somehow won from Death,
To struggle back to heartbeats from the grave
(When Time has won his victory over breath
And Passion's double furnace and that brave
Conjunction of a god and of a slave
Here known as Man) and be alert once more
On a globe throbbing with surprises.
To bear the load of manhood for the hours
Decreed, and bear it always with content,
Is duty to the Vineyard where I give
My sinews to the Master who has lent
Such fires and forces as continual live
To supplement the wise provocative
Compelling us from sloth toward the stars
In the hushed wilderness of ether.
Decreed, and bear it always with content,
Is duty to the Vineyard where I give
My sinews to the Master who has lent
Such fires and forces as continual live
59
Compelling us from sloth toward the stars
In the hushed wilderness of ether.
Believe me, in my honest way I dig
Among the vines, and heap the sombre stones.
Yet while I stoop to prune the Master's grapes,
Aware in secret of His heartening tones,
I breathe my yearning for celestial shapes
In whispered song that brokenly escapes
And shows how waveringly my heart belongs
To the broad bosom of my homeland.
Among the vines, and heap the sombre stones.
Yet while I stoop to prune the Master's grapes,
Aware in secret of His heartening tones,
I breathe my yearning for celestial shapes
In whispered song that brokenly escapes
And shows how waveringly my heart belongs
To the broad bosom of my homeland.
Not even if the friends that used to work,
When I was young, not many yards from me,
Came back, with consolations learnt above,
And gathered at my side, would I agree
To bear afresh man's load of hate and love,
And fevers that as evil spirits move
Along the orbit of his blood, to pulse
In the old theatre of existence;
When I was young, not many yards from me,
Came back, with consolations learnt above,
And gathered at my side, would I agree
To bear afresh man's load of hate and love,
And fevers that as evil spirits move
Along the orbit of his blood, to pulse
In the old theatre of existence;
For always with invisible lips a voice
Well known is murmuring, “Come to me”; and so
I cannot burn with zeal again to tread
From purpling row of vines to purpling row
And duly take from God, with reverent head,
At eve His punctual penny for my bread,
When dewiness has come, and planets stare
At the dark clusters in the grapefields.
Well known is murmuring, “Come to me”; and so
I cannot burn with zeal again to tread
60
And duly take from God, with reverent head,
At eve His punctual penny for my bread,
When dewiness has come, and planets stare
At the dark clusters in the grapefields.
Yet how I thank Him for His warming gift
Of streams and birds and flowers and trees!
If granted in a second world to strain
The rope of twisted life, I beg that these
Enrich me there and help me to refrain
From honied folly, wrath, and ruinous gain,
And dastardly retreats from holiness
On the broad battlefield of Conscience.
Of streams and birds and flowers and trees!
If granted in a second world to strain
The rope of twisted life, I beg that these
Enrich me there and help me to refrain
From honied folly, wrath, and ruinous gain,
And dastardly retreats from holiness
On the broad battlefield of Conscience.
Great Master, though my shoulders plainly bear
The livid bruises proper to the weight
Of baskets loaded to the brim for Thee,
I must not wince, nor murmur at my fate,
Nor hang my lip, nor turn as if to flee
If heavier Vineyard burdens fall to me.
Since Thou art Knowledge, I must be alert
For the clear syllables of Wisdom.
The livid bruises proper to the weight
Of baskets loaded to the brim for Thee,
I must not wince, nor murmur at my fate,
Nor hang my lip, nor turn as if to flee
If heavier Vineyard burdens fall to me.
Since Thou art Knowledge, I must be alert
For the clear syllables of Wisdom.
61
Shall once again my spirit overflow
With joy among deliberative throngs
Of oaks and elms and beeches, where the best
Of natural balm and holiness belongs?
And shall I feel again the conquering zest
That filled a heart nigh bleeding for the guest
Of love? Shall I have songs to sing
Of the flushed umber of the elm-bloom?
With joy among deliberative throngs
Of oaks and elms and beeches, where the best
Of natural balm and holiness belongs?
And shall I feel again the conquering zest
That filled a heart nigh bleeding for the guest
Of love? Shall I have songs to sing
Of the flushed umber of the elm-bloom?
What balm has fallen upon me from the bough,
Only Thy measuring heart could ever tell,
Creator of the Songbird! Yet my dreams
Are radiant with an unfamiliar dell
Surrounded by a pair of brother streams
With babble on their lips, where stands and gleams
My starlit Mother pointing to a nest
In the bent elbow of a sapling.
Only Thy measuring heart could ever tell,
Creator of the Songbird! Yet my dreams
Are radiant with an unfamiliar dell
Surrounded by a pair of brother streams
With babble on their lips, where stands and gleams
My starlit Mother pointing to a nest
In the bent elbow of a sapling.
I needs must follow Her from world to world
And pay for Her with such laborious strife
As means the strange unfolding of Thy plan
For life that grows and blossoms out of life.
Once more renew the Nazareth ban
Of poverty, and set me in the van
Of those with sorest shoulders, to be strong
In the slow plucking of Thy harvest.
And pay for Her with such laborious strife
As means the strange unfolding of Thy plan
62
Once more renew the Nazareth ban
Of poverty, and set me in the van
Of those with sorest shoulders, to be strong
In the slow plucking of Thy harvest.
Since man is of Thy lineage, and designed,
As overshadowed littleness, to break
At last his palace-prison, and to rise
To larger truth, he shall not then forsake
The wearied sinew. In his clearing eyes
Shall brood his faith in yet forbidden skies
Above a richer vineyard. He will glow
With the bright hardship of his lesson.
As overshadowed littleness, to break
At last his palace-prison, and to rise
To larger truth, he shall not then forsake
The wearied sinew. In his clearing eyes
Shall brood his faith in yet forbidden skies
Above a richer vineyard. He will glow
With the bright hardship of his lesson.
For Thou art Work. Thy holiday hath been,
And still must be, the splendour of the task;
And Thou wilt lift us high, and higher yet,
And never grant the languid Heaven we ask;
But teach us how with truth to pay our debt
In loyal service, eager to forget
The dream of thornless roses told to us
In the waste leisures of indulgence.
And still must be, the splendour of the task;
And Thou wilt lift us high, and higher yet,
And never grant the languid Heaven we ask;
But teach us how with truth to pay our debt
In loyal service, eager to forget
The dream of thornless roses told to us
In the waste leisures of indulgence.
63
Thou, Ceaseless Worker, wilt not have me stand
Breast-deep in heavenly lilies day by day
Among recovered friendships; yet allow
Me time to search where haply She might stray,
As here of old, beneath the forest bough
In solitude, before I breathe a vow
Conveying me to Thee, and smile, and stoop
To the next labour of Redemption.
Breast-deep in heavenly lilies day by day
Among recovered friendships; yet allow
Me time to search where haply She might stray,
As here of old, beneath the forest bough
In solitude, before I breathe a vow
Conveying me to Thee, and smile, and stoop
To the next labour of Redemption.
| Verse in bloom | |