 | The collected poems of Arthur Edward Waite |  |
ABSOLUTION
Here to me, friends!—Have I wrong'd you?—Come to me more than all—
That which my lips would utter, with tenderer lips forestall,
Now that the wardens who watch'd me, breaking the guard they kept—
(Passion and pride)—permit me—(dry-eyed, among those that have wept,
No longer)—to share in your weeping—set free in a sense—
Human amidst the human, not as a rock of offence.
The wand has smitten the rock and a plenteous water springs,
So that my heart is link'd with the pulse at the heart of things.
That which my lips would utter, with tenderer lips forestall,
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(Passion and pride)—permit me—(dry-eyed, among those that have wept,
No longer)—to share in your weeping—set free in a sense—
Human amidst the human, not as a rock of offence.
The wand has smitten the rock and a plenteous water springs,
So that my heart is link'd with the pulse at the heart of things.
Ye that are human, pardon! If any I need forgive,
Rest I wish them and joy, with the life that a man would live
Who, in spite of adverse omens written on earth and sky,
Knows well that his Saviour liveth and redemption draweth nigh.
Rest I wish them and joy, with the life that a man would live
Who, in spite of adverse omens written on earth and sky,
Knows well that his Saviour liveth and redemption draweth nigh.
Ye that in secret, below your coats and plumage and skins,
Shelter hearts which are human, free from our follies and sins;
Birds of the air and the beasts, I know by your moans and cries,
Your songs which pant for language, your sad, deep, eloquent eyes;
Ye also have needed love, the want of the world ye know.
Warm be the sunshine about you, soft the winds as they blow;
If I have wrong'd you—it may be—come ye also—forgive;
The life of all life uplift you, that ye may also live!
Shelter hearts which are human, free from our follies and sins;
Birds of the air and the beasts, I know by your moans and cries,
Your songs which pant for language, your sad, deep, eloquent eyes;
Ye also have needed love, the want of the world ye know.
Warm be the sunshine about you, soft the winds as they blow;
If I have wrong'd you—it may be—come ye also—forgive;
The life of all life uplift you, that ye may also live!
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Nature, gracious of seeming, we have met perchance too late,
Truly to love each other, closely to mingle and mate;
But, in these latter days, less now than we were out of reach,
In part I divine your thought, and in part you have learn'd my speech:
So far as my life has wrong'd you—I pray you also, forgive!
Some one has wounded you surely: may you be heal'd and live!
Truly to love each other, closely to mingle and mate;
But, in these latter days, less now than we were out of reach,
In part I divine your thought, and in part you have learn'd my speech:
So far as my life has wrong'd you—I pray you also, forgive!
Some one has wounded you surely: may you be heal'd and live!
Grace, from a world pour'd down which I knew in the times of old,
Or ever my star was barter'd, or ever my birthright sold;
Surely I loved thee always, wherever my steps have stray'd;
To leave is still to love thee; I loved thee, though I betray'd!
For all my wrongs forgive me, and here, in this empty heart,
Till it fills, pour down thine unction; the life of my life thou art.
Or ever my star was barter'd, or ever my birthright sold;
Surely I loved thee always, wherever my steps have stray'd;
To leave is still to love thee; I loved thee, though I betray'd!
For all my wrongs forgive me, and here, in this empty heart,
Till it fills, pour down thine unction; the life of my life thou art.
Yet if man and brute deny me, if Nature spurn me back,
If Grace deflect her channels, bear witness, thou starry track!
I know in my heart of hearts the hills that can yet be trod;
I will take up my heart in my hands, and go up to Thee, my God—
I come to Thee last, but I come; they fail'd me in all the strife—
Those signs of help and comfort; here is the end of my life.
I find no refuge but Thee, O last and first in the wide
And empty worlds of the soul; Thou canst not cast me aside!
If Grace deflect her channels, bear witness, thou starry track!
I know in my heart of hearts the hills that can yet be trod;
I will take up my heart in my hands, and go up to Thee, my God—
I come to Thee last, but I come; they fail'd me in all the strife—
Those signs of help and comfort; here is the end of my life.
I find no refuge but Thee, O last and first in the wide
And empty worlds of the soul; Thou canst not cast me aside!
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Yet hearts which are offer'd to anything under the sun
Are not for long rejected, at least by Nature for one;
And though the hands which are wise, high gifts may hold for a space,
We are not defrauded long of all communion with Grace;
Man never truly waited, if man could ease him a smart;
The rudest beast of the field responds to the human heart;
While those who cry, “O, my darling!” with great hearts inly stirr'd,
Are little less than the angels—that is my gospel word!
Are not for long rejected, at least by Nature for one;
And though the hands which are wise, high gifts may hold for a space,
We are not defrauded long of all communion with Grace;
Man never truly waited, if man could ease him a smart;
The rudest beast of the field responds to the human heart;
While those who cry, “O, my darling!” with great hearts inly stirr'd,
Are little less than the angels—that is my gospel word!
| The collected poems of Arthur Edward Waite | |