The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan :: :: University of Virginia Library

‘Father in heaven, my dream is over,
Father in heaven, my day is dark,—
I sat in the sun and I sang like a lover
Who sings sweet songs for a maid to mark;
And the light was golden upon my hair,
And the heavens were blue and the Earth was fair,
And I knew no touch of a human care,
And I bless'd thy name, my Father!
I sang, and the clarion winds blew clear,
And the lilies rose like lamps on the mere,
And all the night in the balmy light
I lifted up my hands snow-white,
And the stars began to gather!

‘Father, Father, which art in heaven,
Lord of men and master of Earth.
The rune was woven of colours seven,
And out of thy being I had birth;
As a snowdrop wakes on the naked ground,
And opens its eye without a sound
While the winds are murmuring around,
I woke on the green Earth's bosom;
And I heard a cry, as the storks went by
Sailing northward under the sky,
And a cry from the mountains answer'd loud,
And the cataract leapt like a corpse from its shroud,
And the sward began to blossom.

‘White clouds passed over with low sweet thunder,
Shaking downward the silvern dew,
The soft sods trembled and fell asunder,
And the emcrald flame of the grass gleam'd thro',
And the fire of the young boughs overhead
Ran green and amber, golden and red,
And the flashing lamps of the leaves were fed
At the torch of the flaming sunshine:
Beautiful, wrapt in a blissful dream,
Lay mere and mountain, meadow and stream;
And beautiful, when the light was low,
Creeping white through the after-glow,
The starshine and the moonshine!

‘Father, Father, hearken unto me,
Then work thy will on the world and me—
I walk'd the world, and the glad world knew me,
And my feet were kissed by thy slave the Sea.
And ever with every happy hour,
My love grew deeper for tree and flower,
For the beast in the brake, for the bird in the bower,
And the deer on the white high places.
But ere my golden dream was done,
I saw thy Shadow across the sun,
I saw thy Shadow that all men see,
On beast and bird, on flower and tree,
And the flower-sweet human faces!

‘The flower-sweet faces of mortal races
Blossoming sadly under the sky!
I saw my dream on those fading faces,
I heard my voice in their failing cry.
Out of the soil and into the sun
Their souls were stirring as mine had done,
Their dooms were written, their threads were spun,
By the hands of the immortals;
They rose in a dream and they lookt around,
They saw their shadows upon the ground,
And wherever they went beneath the blue
The darker Shadow thy Spirit threw
From the great sun's shining portals.

‘Thou hadst taken clay and hadst made it human,
Blown in its nostrils and lent it breath,
Thou hadst kindled the beauty of man and woman,
To hunt them down with thy bloodhound, Death.
They did not crave to be born or be,
Yet thou gavest them eyes that their souls might see,

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And thou hatest them as thou hatest me
And the Earth thy godhead bearing.
They shrink and tremble before thy hand,
They ask and they do not understand,
They bid thee pity who pitiest none,
And they name thy name, as I, thy Son,
Now name it, still despairing.

‘Father, Father, which art in heaven,
Why hast thou fashion'd my brethren so?
Form'd of fire, with the dust for leaven,
As thou hast made them, they come and go.
Yet ever thy hand is on their hair
To seize and to slay them unaware,
And ever their faces are pale with prayer
As round thy fanes they gather. . . .
Thou askest blood and they give thee life
With sweep of the sacrificial knife;
Thou seekest praise and they give thee pain,
And their altars smoke with the crimson rain
Thou lovest, O my Father!

‘Father, Father, 'tis sad to falter
Out of the light and into the dark,
Like a wreath of smoke from a burning altar
To fade and vanish where none may mark.
But O my Father, 'tis blest to be
A part of the joy of the land and sea,
To upleap like a lamb, to be glad and free
As the stream of a running river.
Could'st thou not spare them a longer space
With sweeter meed of a surer grace?
Could'st thou not love the light that lies
On happy fields and in human eyes,
And let it shine for ever?

‘I hear thy voice from the void of heaven,
It thunders back and it answers “Nay”—
The rune was woven of colours seven
For me, thy Son, and for things of clay.
Then mark me now as I rise and swear,
By the beasts in the brake, by the birds in the air,
By Earth, by all those forces fair
Which mingled in my making;
By men and women who stand supreme
Proud and pale with mine own soul's dream,
I will drink the cup their lips partake!
I will share their lot, while their sad hearts break
As mine, thy Son's, is breaking!

‘Father in heaven, my heart is human,
I cast a shade like a human thing,
Grant me the doom of man and woman;
From the Earth I came, to the Earth I cling.
Behold who standeth at my side!
Even Death, thy servant heavenly eyed—
I will die, as the children of men have died,
To the sound of his sad singing.
Behold, I look in the face of Death,
I look in his eyes and I drink his breath;
The chill light brightens upon his brow,
He creepeth close and he smileth now,
His cold arms round me flinging.

‘Father, Father, bend down and hearken,
And place thy hand upon my hair;
Ere yet I wither, ere yet I darken,
Hear me murmur a last low prayer.
As the blood of a sacrifice is shed,
Let me die in my brethren's stead—
Let me die; but when I am dead,
Call back thy Death to heaven!
Ay me, my Father, if this may be,
I will go with a prayer for him and thee,
I will pass away without a cry,
Blessing and praising thee under the sky,
Forgiving and forgiven.

‘. . . . Father, Father, my dream is over—
He folds me close, and I cannot see;
Yet I shall sleep like a quiet lover
If my boon is granted and this may be.
O sweet it is if I may rest
Asleep on my foster-mother's breast,
If over my grave the flowers blow best
And happy mortals gather.
Yet Father, tho' darkness shrouds my face,
Remember me for a little space,
Remember, remember, and forgive
Thy Son who dies that men may live. . . .
Accept me, O my Father!’