An Actor's Reminiscences and Other Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

God who leadest human creatures
Safe through many a path and winding way;
Thou who guidest all the ages,
And the golden countless orbs dost sway;
Thou whose word the leaping thunders
And the foam-sprent warrior-waves obey:

II

Thou whom not alone the roses
Worship with their tender-glowing bloom
But, besides, the waving grasses

205

Gleaming round about the granite tomb
And the dark-winged dim cloud-clusters
Gathered like grey giants in the gloom:

III

Thou whom all the ancient nations
Sought, and brought their gifts to thine abode;
Thou through whom the heart of Jesus
With the eternal perfect pity glowed;
Thou through whom the race of prophets
Shed their martyr-blood along the road:

IV

Thou through whom our country's glory
Reached its splendid perfect flower indeed;
Thou who gavest to the people
Love for sign and Freedom for a creed;
Thou who sentest chosen warriors
For their country's sake to toil and bleed:

206

V

Still thou livest,—livest surely?—
God, thou art not dead, as some men say?
Men who preach the saws of Science,
And they win the people to their way;
Prating of the central flame-whirl,
And the myriad atoms at their play.

VI

Nay, thou livest: livest surely.—
Far beyond the fiery whirl of things
Thou the God of Love art thronèd,
And the far skies tremble at thy wings:
Thou the living Lord of nature,
And the eternal regnant King of kings.

VII

Our dawn-kindled poets found thee.
When the morning light was in the sky
Thou didst speak to Keats and Shelley,—

207

In the morning roseflush thou wast nigh;
Now the century waxeth older:
Have thine ears grown weary of our cry?

VIII

We the singers of the closing
Fading aging century's dying days
Seek thee,—bring thee all our passion;
Chanting of the sunset's golden rays;—
Now no glory of the morning
Mixes radiant halo with our bays.

IX

Now the wings of time are weary
And the shouts of dawn have died away.
But thou art the same for ever,
Though the century's wild hair groweth grey;
God! thy locks are ever golden;
Countless centuries are to thee one day.

208

X

Thou art living and art with us,
Surely?—as thou wast with all of these.
Still thy giant heart rejoices
In the jubilation of thy seas,—
In the singing of the woodland,
Singing to the singing of the breeze.

XI

God! thou hast not left us swaying
In the blind mad weary whirl of fate?
Thou art still the world's redeemer?
We now living are not born too late?
Love and hope are surely left us,
And an entrance through the starry gate!—

XII

True,—the dusk is round us closing:
Soon another century will be nigh:
Woe to all its bards and lovers

209

If there be no pity in the sky!
If they sink to dust and ashes;
Sing and love and struggle and wail,—and die.

XIII

If the God who brought the ages
Just so far upon their fiery way
Fails and faints and leaves us helpless,
What can any singer's spirit say?
Nought of heart is left for singing:
Not one altar stands at which to pray.

XIV

Why should flowers be born and blossom
And the sweet love dawn in woman's eyes,
If the end is desolation?
Why should summer glisten in new skies?—
God! live thou and reign for ever,
Or the whole world shrivels, shrinks, and dies.

Sept., 1882.