Flower o' the thorn A book of wayside verse: By John Payne |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. | III. THE HALLUCINATION OF THE HILLS. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
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 | Flower o' the thorn |  |
III. THE HALLUCINATION OF THE HILLS.
CLIFF over cliff,
The mountain tow'rs into the topmost blue,
As if
The shining sojourns of the Gods to seek.
Hard by those heights, aglow
With sempiternal snow,
To those, who from below
Their soaring silver in the valley view,
Heaven shows. On yon pellucid peak,
Themseems,
The home is of their hopes, the dwelling of their dreams.
The mountain tow'rs into the topmost blue,
As if
The shining sojourns of the Gods to seek.
Hard by those heights, aglow
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To those, who from below
Their soaring silver in the valley view,
Heaven shows. On yon pellucid peak,
Themseems,
The home is of their hopes, the dwelling of their dreams.
But, once the crest,
After long toil, with aching muscles won
And breast
Well nigh to bursting strained as in a vice,
Look round you, where you stand,
And you on every hand
No bright enchanted land
Of ivory turrets shining in the sun,
But a wild waste of snow and ice
Will find,
Shorn by the storm and rent by the relentless wind.
After long toil, with aching muscles won
And breast
Well nigh to bursting strained as in a vice,
Look round you, where you stand,
And you on every hand
No bright enchanted land
Of ivory turrets shining in the sun,
But a wild waste of snow and ice
Will find,
Shorn by the storm and rent by the relentless wind.
The snow not white,
But grey you'll find, the ice not crystal-clear
And bright,
As to the looker showed it from afar,
But muddy and opaque,
The sky a cold cloud-lake
Of lead, without a break.
A world of horror dumb and silence drear
It is, the cold corpse of a star,
To death
Frozen in the frantic last convulsive fight for breath.
But grey you'll find, the ice not crystal-clear
And bright,
As to the looker showed it from afar,
But muddy and opaque,
The sky a cold cloud-lake
Of lead, without a break.
A world of horror dumb and silence drear
It is, the cold corpse of a star,
To death
Frozen in the frantic last convulsive fight for breath.
So with whate'er
We picture bright, because it lies far hence,
And fair,
Because it is beyond our reach and call.
Its glow and goodlihead
Are of our fancy bred.
Jesus “The Kingdom” said
“Of Heaven within you is;” and one and all
Man's Heavens, be they of thought or sense,
Of plain
Or mountain, owe their birth and being to his brain.
We picture bright, because it lies far hence,
And fair,
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Its glow and goodlihead
Are of our fancy bred.
Jesus “The Kingdom” said
“Of Heaven within you is;” and one and all
Man's Heavens, be they of thought or sense,
Of plain
Or mountain, owe their birth and being to his brain.
| Flower o' the thorn | |