 | The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder |  |
THE OLD FAITH
On that old faith I will take hold once more—
Now that the long waves bear me to the shore
And life's brief voyage is o'er;
Now that the long waves bear me to the shore
And life's brief voyage is o'er;
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Near is the looked-for land—
One wild leap on the strand
And the dear souls I loved of old
I shall again behold,
And arms that held me once shall hold again.
One wild leap on the strand
And the dear souls I loved of old
I shall again behold,
And arms that held me once shall hold again.
In blinding ways of men
Long did I mourning doubt,
Saying: “Into the universe have they gone out
And shall be lost
In the wide waves of unseen, infinite force;
For nature heeds not all the bitter cost,
But rushes on its course
Unto the far, determined goal,
Without self-conscious knowledge, or remorse.”
But now the time is come, the test draws near,
And sudden my soul is innocent of fear.
Long did I mourning doubt,
Saying: “Into the universe have they gone out
And shall be lost
In the wide waves of unseen, infinite force;
For nature heeds not all the bitter cost,
But rushes on its course
Unto the far, determined goal,
Without self-conscious knowledge, or remorse.”
But now the time is come, the test draws near,
And sudden my soul is innocent of fear.
O ye beloved! I come! I cry
With the old passion ye shall not deny!
I know you, as I knew
When life was in its dew;
Ah, naught of me has suffered inward change,
Nor can be change essential even in you,
However far the freer spirit's range.
Soul shall find soul; there is no distance
That bars love's brave insistence,
And nothing truly dies
In all the infinite realm of woe and weal;
Throughout creation's bound thrill answers thrill
And love to love replies.
With the old passion ye shall not deny!
I know you, as I knew
When life was in its dew;
Ah, naught of me has suffered inward change,
Nor can be change essential even in you,
However far the freer spirit's range.
Soul shall find soul; there is no distance
That bars love's brave insistence,
And nothing truly dies
In all the infinite realm of woe and weal;
Throughout creation's bound thrill answers thrill
And love to love replies.
| The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | |