 | Poems |  |
1
THE MORNING'S HINGES.
A solis ortûs cardine.
—Sedulius.
—Sedulius.
I
Where the Morning's hinges turn,Where the fires of sunset burn,
Where the Pole its burthen weighty
Whirls around the starry hall;
Beings, wheresoe'er ye are,
Ether, vapour, comet, star,
There art Thou, Lord God Almighty,
Thou that mad'st and keep'st them all.
II
Where, on earth, battalioned foesIn the deadly combat close;
Where the plagues have made their stations,
Dropped from Heaven's distempered air;
Where, within the human breast,
Rising hints of thought suggest
Sin's insane hallucinations,
Dread One, Thou art also there.
2
III
O most Mighty, O most High,Past Thought's compass, what am I
That should dare Thy comprehending
In this narrow, shallow brain?
Yea, but Thou hast given a Soul
Well capacious of the whole,
And a Conscience ever tending
Right-ward, surely not in vain.
IV
Yea, I'd hinder, if I could,Wrath and pain and spilling blood;
I would tell the cannon loaded
“Fire not”! and the sabre stay
Mid-cut: but the matter brute
Owns its own law absolute;
And the grains will be exploded,
And the driven iron slay.
V
Deaf the nitre; deaf the steel:And, if I the Man appeal,
Answer Soldier and Commander,
“We, blind engines, even as these,
“Do but execute His plan,
“Working since the world began,
“Towards some consummation grander
“Than your little mind can seize.”
3
VI
What! does all, then, end in this,That, amid a world amiss,
Man must ever be but parcel-
Imperfection? and the soul
Ever thus in poise between
Things contrarient, rest, a mean
Averaged of the universal
Good and ill that make the whole?
VII
No, a something cries within;No; I am not of your kin
Broods of evil! all the forces
Of my nature answer No!
Though the world be overspread
With the riddle still unread
Of your being, of your sources,
This with sense supreme I know;
VIII
That, behoves me, and I can,Work within the inner man
Such a weeding, such a cleansing
Of this moss-grown home-plot here,
As shall make its herbage meet
For the soles of angels' feet,
And its blooms for eyes dispensing
Light of Heaven's own atmosphere.
4
IX
“Yea, what thou hast last advanced,“Creature, verily thou canst.”
(Hark, the Master!) “Up. Bestir thee;
“And, that thou may'st find the way,
“Things inscrutable laid by,
“Be content to know that I,
“Hoping, longing, waiting for thee,
“Stand beside thee, every day.”
X
Lord, and is it Thou, indeed,Takest pity on my need,
Who nor symbol show nor token
Vouching aught of right in me?
“I, dear soul,” the Master said,
“Come to some through broken bread;
“Come to some through message spoken;
“Come in pure, free grace to thee.”
| Poems | |