 | Stones from The Quarry |  |
THE FUTURE.
In thoughts from visions of the night, when sleep
Seals up men's hearts, a thing was secretly
Unto me brought: it seemed as if God's eye
Were fixed upon me, and an awe, as deep
As his who waits the words of Doom, 'gan creep
Into my inmost soul. No form passed by;
No voice, no sound, but the intensity
Of silence as 'twixt life and death did keep
Dread pause! My mortal nature by new laws
Seemed bound; and all at fault, as lost, my mind
In worlds not realised was at a pause,
As groping towards the light, like those struck blind.
So he of his release knew not the cause
Angelic, till himself he free did find!
Seals up men's hearts, a thing was secretly
Unto me brought: it seemed as if God's eye
Were fixed upon me, and an awe, as deep
As his who waits the words of Doom, 'gan creep
Into my inmost soul. No form passed by;
No voice, no sound, but the intensity
Of silence as 'twixt life and death did keep
Dread pause! My mortal nature by new laws
Seemed bound; and all at fault, as lost, my mind
In worlds not realised was at a pause,
As groping towards the light, like those struck blind.
So he of his release knew not the cause
Angelic, till himself he free did find!
So I, methought, a vision saw alone,
A vision of the night; but yet awake
I dreamed: as light airs fly before the break
Of day, the breath of a new life seemed blown
Into my soul, with sweetness all unknown.
As faint lights herald in the sun to make
A path of glory for him, for my sake
The “Father of Lights” some little of His own
Vouchsafed to me; and, as the iron gate
To Peter opened of his own accord,
He knew the angel, deemed a vision late,
My vision's “gate of horn” doth so afford
Like egress to thy truth and freedom, Lord,
And thee I know, by franchise without date.
A vision of the night; but yet awake
I dreamed: as light airs fly before the break
Of day, the breath of a new life seemed blown
Into my soul, with sweetness all unknown.
As faint lights herald in the sun to make
A path of glory for him, for my sake
The “Father of Lights” some little of His own
Vouchsafed to me; and, as the iron gate
To Peter opened of his own accord,
He knew the angel, deemed a vision late,
My vision's “gate of horn” doth so afford
Like egress to thy truth and freedom, Lord,
And thee I know, by franchise without date.
13
But little is to mortal man revealed;
His Pisgah faintly shows the “Promised Land;”
Yet what I see is life more true and grand.
Not for the few, but all, doth Science yield
Her large results, and make the earth one field,
One mine, one workshop—when for all all's planned,
Of heart and brain, and steam's Briarean hand
Life's drudgery does, man's mind will be unsealed.
The rays of that true intellectual sun,
To focus brought, shall concentrate such light
That clouds of ignorance be few or none;
Such warmth that to their fairest, fullest height
All herbs of grace in man shall one by one
Attain perfection in his Maker's sight.
His Pisgah faintly shows the “Promised Land;”
Yet what I see is life more true and grand.
Not for the few, but all, doth Science yield
Her large results, and make the earth one field,
One mine, one workshop—when for all all's planned,
Of heart and brain, and steam's Briarean hand
Life's drudgery does, man's mind will be unsealed.
The rays of that true intellectual sun,
To focus brought, shall concentrate such light
That clouds of ignorance be few or none;
Such warmth that to their fairest, fullest height
All herbs of grace in man shall one by one
Attain perfection in his Maker's sight.
Private shall cease, and Public good be rule;
Wealth, rendered useless, shall be no man's aim,
Where wealth of all makes each and all the same.
The finest palace shall be then the school
Where the child learns to be nor knave nor fool.
In palaces men too shall dwell, nor shame
Their dwelling, without pride as without blame;
Where all are lodged alike, all serve with tool,
Pen, brush, heart, brain. For all, of wholesome food
Abundance, but not for the swinish snout
Of appetite; true work for every mood,
And that best wealth of all, beyond all doubt,
A pure mind in pure body, the chief good,
That moulds man in God's true similitude.
Wealth, rendered useless, shall be no man's aim,
Where wealth of all makes each and all the same.
The finest palace shall be then the school
Where the child learns to be nor knave nor fool.
In palaces men too shall dwell, nor shame
Their dwelling, without pride as without blame;
Where all are lodged alike, all serve with tool,
Pen, brush, heart, brain. For all, of wholesome food
Abundance, but not for the swinish snout
Of appetite; true work for every mood,
And that best wealth of all, beyond all doubt,
A pure mind in pure body, the chief good,
That moulds man in God's true similitude.
None will seek wealth, none envy, none desire;
At Mammon's shrine no more shall Avarice fall,
For what is private wealth to National?
Riches that o'er his fellows lift not higher,
But mock themselves, self-surfeited expire.
All hearts shall have a larger scope and call,
All Science be more high-majestical;
All Work be quickened with a finer fire
To finer issues. Painting, whose proud head
To private doorways stooped, shall pace erect
Thro' palace-portals, and her canvas spread
Large as a nation's life. The Architect
Shall build for ages, like the Faith now dead
And cold; and Music earth with heaven connect!
At Mammon's shrine no more shall Avarice fall,
For what is private wealth to National?
Riches that o'er his fellows lift not higher,
But mock themselves, self-surfeited expire.
All hearts shall have a larger scope and call,
All Science be more high-majestical;
All Work be quickened with a finer fire
To finer issues. Painting, whose proud head
To private doorways stooped, shall pace erect
Thro' palace-portals, and her canvas spread
Large as a nation's life. The Architect
Shall build for ages, like the Faith now dead
And cold; and Music earth with heaven connect!
14
Who was it sowed the seed, who first did plough
The golden furrows that, touched by the sun,
Glow, smoke, and say, “The Promised Day's begun?”
The incense of that labour doth his brow,
Struck by God's light, as halo'd with it show!
The holiest incense altar ever won;
The incense of man's mind, when, high work done,
God says, “Well done: come thou unto Me now.”
Else hard their lot who serve Man's thankless race;
Small recognition have they from the crowd,
Who reap that precious harvest of God's grace
Like common grain; their greatness like a shroud
Hides them, till, raised up as one dead, the place
That no more knows them, hears them speak aloud!
The golden furrows that, touched by the sun,
Glow, smoke, and say, “The Promised Day's begun?”
The incense of that labour doth his brow,
Struck by God's light, as halo'd with it show!
The holiest incense altar ever won;
The incense of man's mind, when, high work done,
God says, “Well done: come thou unto Me now.”
Else hard their lot who serve Man's thankless race;
Small recognition have they from the crowd,
Who reap that precious harvest of God's grace
Like common grain; their greatness like a shroud
Hides them, till, raised up as one dead, the place
That no more knows them, hears them speak aloud!
| Stones from The Quarry | |