The Baptistery, or the way of eternal life :: :: University of Virginia Library

All labour for their wages; fragrant tree,
And many-colour'd mead, and thymy hill,
Are all alive with sacred industry;
Where bees now range abroad, and now are still,
On orchys, cowslip, or pale daffodil,
Loaded with sweetness; now each interval,
As they pass by, with hymning chimes they fill:
O lesson sweet to man, O sacred call
To labour till the grave shall house and gather all,—

Hid in our Rock with our own works till morn
Of vernal Resurrection! 'Neath our feet
No less the busy ants their path have worn:
As multitudes that throng suburban street
Of huge metropolis, they pass and meet,
Like some strange miniature of human life,
Swarming in myriads to their central seat,
With emulous toils and combinations rife;
Such haste ere winter's hand shall still th' industrious strife.

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All labour for their wages;—o'er the ground
The trees inanimate are gathering spoil
For their own strength and increase; far around
The sun, and shower, and air, and pregnant soil
Transmuting to their substance; in their toil
Labouring they seem to labour not; but rise
Long unperceiv'd, till after the turmoil
Of tempests, silent in their own blue skies,
Cedars of God they stand, and trees of Paradise.

All labour for their wages;—beasts that ask
Their nurture and protection from man's hand,
With varied natures, act the allotted task,
And in return due recompense demand;
Such plighted covenants between us stand
Of service and repayment; every gate
Is full of labour throughout all the land,
While creatures serve mankind and on him wait;
Such mutual toils inwreathe the universal state.

Due Recompense through all things sternly rides,
And to her omnipresence all things bow;
Due Recompense commands the flowing tides
Of business through the streets, while to and fro
They meet and overtake, and come and go,
Men lab'ring for each other: Recompense
Hangs on the scale, and governs all below,
And due returns all nature's laws dispense ;
Like power that rolls the stars unseen by mortal sense.

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Due Recompense doth people the wide seas,
Studding the blue with pearl-drops, which for hire
Spread forth their pennons to the wintry breeze;
Due Recompense doth muster and attire
Great armies, glitt'ring like spots of fire
On sunny slopes, and marching up and down;
Their mighty captains for a breath aspire,
Shake hands with death, and, all their toils to crown,
Grasp at an empty shade of fleeting poor renown.

Due Recompense walks 'mid the grassy vale,
'Mid hanging woods, waiting their time to fall,—
And golden harvests, waving in the gale
Their yellow seas tumultuous; all things call
For Recompense, the crown that waiteth all.
This sends the ploughman to the autumnal slope,
This calls the daily herdsman to the stall;
Through the long year the husbandman's sole hope;
The circle binding each in less or ampler scope.

E'en as the heavenly orbit keeps in course,
In wide or nearer circuit, countless stars,
Wheeling along with unabated force,
And hedg'd around with unimagin'd bars;
So Recompense stills our terrestrial jars.
But those bright stars walk their high paths in love,
Their unpaid light no selfish purpose mars,
Like Angels whom delight alone doth move,
Therefore their steps we deem all harmonies above.

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But Recompense below keeps all in place,
And urges all our motions:—Let me learn
And understand this Parable, whose face
Looks with significance so full and stern,
And meets us all around, where'er we turn,
With omnipresent language: its deep eye
Speaks of some recompense that man must earn,
Pregnant no doubt with some vast prophecy,
And haunting all our steps with message from on high.

Justice and Faithfulness, and Honour true,
Stamp characters which here on earth are won
From distribution right of wages due.
And Power, Wealth, Fame, on races mortals run
Tend them, as due rewards for service done.
What mystery thus wraps our being round?
They are precursors of the Judge's throne,
Wherein the one great Recompense is found,
The wages, guerdon, prize, wherewith all works are crown'd.

Thus all this universal frame is seal'd
And stamp'd by retribution, soon or late,
Before the assembled worlds to be reveal'd,
For which all natures in expectance wait
Without the everlasting City's gate;
That coming Retribution sways e'en now,
And interweaves her signals with each state,
Her dread rehearsals ever acts below,
And lifts her warning hand to bid us pause and know.

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These retributions thick around us sown,
In countless evolutions, new and strange,
Wheel within wheel , bear on the Judge's throne,—
Wheel within wheel in wondrous interchange,—
The world's tumultuous deep-order'd range;
All ways at once they move, yet onward bear
Straightforward,—nought their course to disarrange;
Each orbit hath its lamp and eyes of fear,
All blend in one broad light—of Judgment drawing near.

All labour, yet none singly in their sphere;
Things mute and senseless need man's watchful aid;
The visible creations all cohere,
With offices co-operate inlaid
And mutual dependancies, all made
To serve each other: cherish'd beasts, hous'd bees,
And men with men, and trees of shelt'ring shade,
Blend, form, unite in deep confederacies,
And interwoven aid each other's destinies.

Thus beings with us blend beyond our ken;
And they who feign'd the distant stars to be
Inwoven with contingencies of men,
In that great fiction touch'd upon a key
Within the door of mighty mystery:

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“The stars—they fought 'gainst Sisera from Heaven,”
And sun and moon for Joshua; types I see
Of things afar which here with men have striven
As skirts of glorious worlds break forth on star-lit even.

Again: through nature's efforts doth attend
A mind Omniscient and Almighty hand,
Swaying their movements towards their destin'd end;
Forms in the womb the babe, with viewless band
Holds, and instils instinctive its command:—
Softly around is wonder's mantle brought.
The vernal plants e'en now, that climb or stand,
Unfold deep plans of pre-ordaining thought,
Contriv'd ere they had birth, and now to being brought.

All indicate one Omnipresent Mind;
The nascent tendril creeps, or climbs and clings,
Its storied ladders spread, and upward wind,
Supported and supporting. Feeble things,
Lambs in their sports, and birds on unfledg'd wings,
Speak a Divine Intelligence to tend
Their gradual steps, which, slow-evolving, tend
To that perfection which their lives ascend;
Though multitudes ne'er reach their nature's destin'd end.

Much more in this our mortal pilgrimage,—
In this the womb of mighty destinies,—

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In this the embryo of eternal age,—
In these the spirit's want-announcing cries,—
In these its aspirations to arise,—
Where closing round tempestuous life appears
Beneath the covering of the hidden skies,
Rocking the cradle of eternal years,
Our ever-present God, moves, aids, and rules our fears.

Hence Faith doth hallow all things, nurs'd with love,
Descending from the Heavens, with them to hold
Communion, and again ascend above,
In varied ways of wisdom manifold,
Which join us with our head. Things dead and cold
Kindling with fire, she, ere the spirit goes,
On natures which surround us, growing old,
Something of everlastingness bestows,
Converting to that life which through her being flows.

Treasure in Heaven! O words of awful sound:—
Treasure in Heaven where thieves cannot break through,
Where rust and moth corrupt not: treasure found
For ever durable, for ever new,—
Which wastes not in the using; riches true,
Because for ever; riches which e'en now
May be increas'd each hour that flies from view,
Each hour may be diminish'd ere we know,—
And we for everlasting years the loss forego.

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“Thy Father sees in secret,”—fast and prayer,
And alms unknown to man, are all His own;
He treasures them in secret, storing there
Where nothing perishes. O words alone
Worthy our thought and care! the seeds thus sown
In darkness, 'neath the earth forgotten long,
In some mysterious increase shall be known,
In harvests which to other worlds belong,
As elements most rude mould Love's melodious song.

Alas! how many seem to sow in air,
In life's poor vanities; and then they sleep,
Forgotten; nothing marks the whence or where,
Or whither gone: but in that stillness deep,
Which doth their senses in oblivion steep,
Their works do follow them,—about them throng;
Dread pause, ere they th' o'erwhelming whirlwind reap!
Their deeds shall claim them with a trumpet tongue,
And through th' eternal years shall unto them belong.

Whate'er we do it passes, and is found
Whither we know not; and becomes the seed
Of after reckonings; seed which underground
Lies unperceiv'd awhile, beside the weed
That bore it, or is driven on wings with speed
Of airy ministers, where no one knew;
But when the eternal Summer shall succeed,

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It shall with all its increase stand to view,
And claim the parent stock whereon the poison grew.

All labour for their wages, yet unseen;
The Heavenly Kingdom which around us springs,
Lies hidden 'neath this ever-shifting scene,
And worlds we deem not of around us brings:
Wherein whate'er we do makes itself wings,
And when the intent doth consecrate the deed,
Here, from amid the same material things,
Doth to imperishable worlds proceed,
Converted to a store to aid us at our need.

Alas! and is it true that all we do
Is thus immortal? spirits cannot die,
Their doings are with them, where'er they go,
Partakers of their immortality,
And grow into their essence; hence to fly
From our own works is from ourselves to part;
For who can 'scape from conscious memory,
That wondrous treasure-house within the heart?
The things that thou hast done have made thee what thou art.

Then works are written deepest in the soul,
And deepest in God's book, whate'er that be,
When least apparent in sad memory's scroll;
Least wash'd by tears; they from us seem to flee,
And their dark lineaments no more we see.—
In the soul's inner chambers then they hide,
Have gone to lurk behind the very eye

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With which we judge of all things: in their pride
Close like a beam the door, and in the dark abide.

In God's own book then are they writ most deep
When most by us forgotten; they remain
Part of our very being, and thus steep
Memory's own tablet with the running stain.
Conscience proves that to which she turns with pain
Abhorrent to herself. When streamlets run
In sunshine, shadows on their breast remain;
But when they know no more the genial sun,
No image marks their breast, all shadowless and dun.

Like streams our lives are hastening; and whate'er
They in their journey take with them to dwell,
Impregnate with their substance, on they bear
To the great home of waters. From the well
Of our regenerate being, in a cell
Cradled in flowers within a mountain cave,
Like early morn, they issued; as they swell,
Something they gather with each passing wave,
That nought can lave again till ocean be their grave.

All labour for their wages: like a stream
Life hastens onward; and for good or ill,
Each day adds to the store, though as a dream
It hurries by. O plant in me the will,

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Quicken, exalt, refine,—my bosom fill
With earnest diligence, whate'er I do!
Life swells the onward river,—nought is still;
O may no earthly taint within it flow
To meet that hidden sea, the everlasting Now.

All labour for their wages,—for some crown
In things unseen, and great realities,
Proportion'd to their labours, yet unknown;
And in all things around envelop'd lies
Some parable of hidden histories.
On lives obscure, and paths in silence trod,
Faith, whose transcendent birth is in the skies,
Quickens the heart, and like that fabled rod,
Turns all to gold around the ways that lead to God.

Thus bees, which hide in flowery bells unseen,
Gain sweetness o'er bare hill or barren moor,
And fill with hymn each interval between;
Thus busy ants toil for their wintry store;
Thus trees are gathering stature evermore
From suns and showers, and from the hidden ground;
Thus ships spread forth their sails to distant shore,
Waiting on gales from Heaven, and wakeful found
On moon-lit ocean broad, while stars keep watch around.

Arist. Ethic., lib. v. c. 5.

Ezekiel i. 13, 16, 17.