The Chain of Lilies, and other poems By William Brighty Rands |
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The Waiting Angel.
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 | The Chain of Lilies, and other poems |  |
75
The Waiting Angel.
The Painter who should drop his brush,
Because he could not seize the blush
Of heaven, when birds do dreamily stir
And the warm sun first touches her,
Would not be worthy of his name—
He cannot copy the morning-flame,
But with his best of artist-wit
Lovingly strives to render it,—
And Heaven, in our ideal sense,
For him and us makes recompense.
Because he could not seize the blush
Of heaven, when birds do dreamily stir
And the warm sun first touches her,
Would not be worthy of his name—
He cannot copy the morning-flame,
But with his best of artist-wit
Lovingly strives to render it,—
And Heaven, in our ideal sense,
For him and us makes recompense.
The Poet who should break his lyre
Because he could not make the wire
Echo the music of the spheres
In perfect tones to mortal ears,
Translate all utterance of the gods
In the rude phrase of mortal clods,
Fling from its delicate frame of gold
The thunder, awful as it roll'd,—
No bard were he! He sings his best—
Celestial law provides the rest.
Because he could not make the wire
Echo the music of the spheres
In perfect tones to mortal ears,
Translate all utterance of the gods
In the rude phrase of mortal clods,
Fling from its delicate frame of gold
The thunder, awful as it roll'd,—
No bard were he! He sings his best—
Celestial law provides the rest.
76
The man who will not gird his loins
For that which Truth or Love enjoins,
Because he knows his work, when wrought,
Will fall below his hope and thought,
Is no true workman. Let him do
The thing his conscience points him to;
And he shall find the seed he cast
Spring up when many days are past,
Whilst every honest deed will bring
A training for that nobler thing
For which Archangel Duty waits,
Keeping Occasion's golden gates
For such as watchfully pursue
Her long, laborious avenue;—
Many She calls, but chooseth few,
To crown at last when crowns are due.
For that which Truth or Love enjoins,
Because he knows his work, when wrought,
Will fall below his hope and thought,
Is no true workman. Let him do
The thing his conscience points him to;
And he shall find the seed he cast
Spring up when many days are past,
Whilst every honest deed will bring
A training for that nobler thing
For which Archangel Duty waits,
Keeping Occasion's golden gates
For such as watchfully pursue
Her long, laborious avenue;—
Many She calls, but chooseth few,
To crown at last when crowns are due.
| The Chain of Lilies, and other poems | |