THE BOW OF PROMISE.
“The bow shall be in the cloud; I will look upon it
that I may remember the everlasting Covenant.”
Gen. ix. 16.
Thou liquid bow of beauty and of grace
Arching the rain-cloud with a bended way,
Religion cannot mark thy gleaming trace
And muse not, how the mighty God did say
That when yon sacramental arch should span
The hills beneath, or paint the heavens above,
He would recall His covenant with Man,
And feel the vastness of forgiving love.
Summer, and seed-time, harvest, winter, spring,
Whate'er the seasons in their mercy bear,
Each unto ransom'd Earth should ever bring
Tokens of peace and God's paternal care.
And thus, a symbol art thou, and a sign
Of what no wisdom in the schools could teach;
A sacred emblem, preaching truths divine
More eloquent of Christ than angel-speech.
'Tis not alone that Childhood's greeting eyes
When first thine arching loveliness they see,
Gladden beneath it with entranced surprise
And hail the miracle of hues in thee!
Nor is it, that our Priests of earth and heaven
Who at the altar of the Muses stand,
To whom the glorious privilege is given
To summon beauty when they wave their wand,
The gem-like radiance of thy form admire,
And liquid blending of thy rain-born hues,
Or, oft to hymn thee, strike the hallow'd lyre
And into words thine opal gleams transfuse.
Still less can Science, with her colder gaze,
Suggest what thy prismatic splendours mean,
When dim and delicate with tearful rays
She marks thee outlined in the storm-veil'd scene.
'Tis Faith alone thy full enchantment feels
Mild grace and glory of the firmament!
When o'er the heart remember'd judgment steals,
And grateful love with tender awe is blent.
Since, not a pulse of life in earth, or sea,
That should not in thy graceful symbol find
A token which our God express'd by thee,—
His curse has roll'd away from wreck'd mankind!
Pure arch of triumph! wove through Nature's tears
In fairy gems reflected as they fall,
Bright may thy bow, beyond our mortal fears,
Preach the vast mercy which encloseth all!
And, deeply touching to the soul made wise
Is the great truth primeval words declare,—
That when a rainbow consecrates the skies
Both God and man commingle glances there.
Mercy The One in that soft omen sees,
View'd in the promise which of old He swore,
That earth should witness what His will decrees,
And not be deluged as she was of yore.
And man, the monument of matchless love,
When he beholds yon bow of beauty form,
Saint if he be, recalls the Christ above
Who rescued Nature from her ruin-storm.
But, high o'er heaven's purpureal ether mount
To that sunn'd region where no storms prevail,
And even there, at mercy's crystal fount
The rainbow of our human past we hail!
Round the white Throne where sits the Prince of Light,—
Glory beyond all glories to express!
Lo, the same rainbow gleams like emerald bright,
And girdles Him with awful loveliness.
And oh, believer! does not this declare
That covenants divine abide the same?
How saints of old, as living Christians are,
Were rescued by the one redeeming Name?
Lord of our souls! Thou Saviour ever dear,
Be still our rainbow in the clouds of life;
In Thy chaste sunlight melt each rising tear,
And arch with triumph scenes of darkest strife.
Radiant with mercy, calm the sinking heart,
And beam through sorrow's night and suff'ring's gloom,
A deathless Iris, that will ne'er depart,
But shine immortal o'er our destined tomb!
