 | The complete poetical writings of J. G. Holland |  |
IV.
The moon came up the summer sky:
“Oh, happy moon!” the lady said;
“Men love thee for thyself, but I
Am loved because my life is wed
To one whose message, pure and high,
“Oh, happy moon!” the lady said;
“Men love thee for thyself, but I
Am loved because my life is wed
To one whose message, pure and high,
342
“Has spread the world's evangel far,
And thrown such radiance through the dark
That men behold him as a star,
And in his gracious coming mark
How beautiful his footsteps are.
And thrown such radiance through the dark
That men behold him as a star,
And in his gracious coming mark
How beautiful his footsteps are.
“Oh, Moon! dost thou take all thy light
From the great sun so lately gone?
Are there not shapes upon thy white,
That mould and make his sheen thy own,
And charms that soften to the sight
From the great sun so lately gone?
Are there not shapes upon thy white,
That mould and make his sheen thy own,
And charms that soften to the sight
“The ardor of his blinding blaze?
Who loves thee that thou art the sun's?
Who does not give thee sweetest praise
Among the troop of shining ones
That sweep along the heavenly ways?
Who loves thee that thou art the sun's?
Who does not give thee sweetest praise
Among the troop of shining ones
That sweep along the heavenly ways?
“Yet still within the holy place
The altar sanctifies the gift!
Poor, precious gift, that begs for grace!
Oh, towering altar! that doth lift
The gift so high, that, in its face,
The altar sanctifies the gift!
Poor, precious gift, that begs for grace!
Oh, towering altar! that doth lift
The gift so high, that, in its face,
“It bears no beauty to the thought
Of those who round the altar stand!
Poor, precious gift, that goes for naught
From willing heart and ready hand,
And wins no favor unbesought!
Of those who round the altar stand!
Poor, precious gift, that goes for naught
From willing heart and ready hand,
And wins no favor unbesought!
“The stars are whiter for the blue;
The sky is deeper for the stars;
They give and take in commerce true,
And lend their beauty to the cars
Of downy dusk, that all night through
The sky is deeper for the stars;
They give and take in commerce true,
And lend their beauty to the cars
Of downy dusk, that all night through
343
“Sweep o'er the void on silver wheels;
Yet neither starry sky nor cloud
Is loved the less that it reveals
A beauty all its own, endowed
By all the wealth its beauty steals.
Yet neither starry sky nor cloud
Is loved the less that it reveals
A beauty all its own, endowed
By all the wealth its beauty steals.
“Am I a dew-drop in a rose,
With no significance apart?
Must I but sparkle in repose
Close to its folded, fragrant heart,
Its peerless beauty to disclose?
With no significance apart?
Must I but sparkle in repose
Close to its folded, fragrant heart,
Its peerless beauty to disclose?
“Would I not toil to win his bread,
Or give him all I have to give?
Would I not die in his sweet stead,
And die in joy? But I must live;
And, living, I must still be fed
Or give him all I have to give?
Would I not die in his sweet stead,
And die in joy? But I must live;
And, living, I must still be fed
“On love that comes in love's own right.
They must not pet or pamper me—
These who rejoice beneath his light—
Or pity him, that I can be
So precious in his princely sight.”
They must not pet or pamper me—
These who rejoice beneath his light—
Or pity him, that I can be
So precious in his princely sight.”
With swiftest wings, through heart and brain,
The little hour unheeded flew;
And when, behind the blazoned stain
Of saintly vestures, red and blue,
The lights on rose and window-pane
The little hour unheeded flew;
And when, behind the blazoned stain
Of saintly vestures, red and blue,
The lights on rose and window-pane
Within the chapel slowly died,
And figures muffled by the moon
Went shuffling home on either side—
One seeking her—she said: “How soon!”
And the glad pastor kissed his bride.
And figures muffled by the moon
Went shuffling home on either side—
One seeking her—she said: “How soon!”
And the glad pastor kissed his bride.
| The complete poetical writings of J. G. Holland | |