 | Selected poems by William J. Grayson |  |
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A SUNDAY MORNING'S DREAM
From weeks of sickness and the open grave
Saved by His hand whose hand alone can save,
With health returning, in my easy chair
I sat and breathed the balmy summer air,
Through open windows, laden with perfume
Of garden roses in their choicest bloom.
With hope and joy renewed, I gazed around,
Felt a new charm in every sight and sound,
And blest the power that gave for beds of pain
June's fragrant breezes and sweet flowers again.
Saved by His hand whose hand alone can save,
With health returning, in my easy chair
I sat and breathed the balmy summer air,
Through open windows, laden with perfume
Of garden roses in their choicest bloom.
With hope and joy renewed, I gazed around,
Felt a new charm in every sight and sound,
And blest the power that gave for beds of pain
June's fragrant breezes and sweet flowers again.
The Sunday's sky was bright and far and near,
From spire to spire pealed out the call to prayer,
With anxious wish to share its joys once more
I closed my eyes and thought the service o'er;
In fancy saw while listening to its chimes
The ancient tower, the avenue of limes,
The graves adorned with flowers, the cheerful throng,
Organ and choir and books of sacred song,
And parish girls and boys arranged in pairs
The galleries seeking by the spacious stairs.
From spire to spire pealed out the call to prayer,
With anxious wish to share its joys once more
I closed my eyes and thought the service o'er;
In fancy saw while listening to its chimes
The ancient tower, the avenue of limes,
The graves adorned with flowers, the cheerful throng,
Organ and choir and books of sacred song,
And parish girls and boys arranged in pairs
The galleries seeking by the spacious stairs.
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I strove to join the throng, the portal gain,
Some influence stopt me and I strove in vain;
When as I stood in wonder fixed and fear
A voice of solemn sweetness reached my ear.
“Mortal, just saved from death, beware,” it said;
“Tempt not the second death that waits the dead,
Irreverent long and careless still, deplore
Your heartless worship and offend no more.
Pause, ere in seeming praise you dare again
To mock God's mercy and His house profane;
Pause, ere you desecrate his place of prayer
And for a blessing meet his vengeance there.”
Some influence stopt me and I strove in vain;
When as I stood in wonder fixed and fear
A voice of solemn sweetness reached my ear.
“Mortal, just saved from death, beware,” it said;
“Tempt not the second death that waits the dead,
Irreverent long and careless still, deplore
Your heartless worship and offend no more.
Pause, ere in seeming praise you dare again
To mock God's mercy and His house profane;
Pause, ere you desecrate his place of prayer
And for a blessing meet his vengeance there.”
As still and mute, in sorrow and surprise
I stood with guilty blush and downcast eyes,
The angel saw and pitied—“Mine the task,”
He said, “to aid what suppliant mortals ask,
To waft their tears, their penitential sighs,
Their grateful prayers, like incense, to the skies;
But ah! how poor the gift the purest give,
How cold the life to God that man can live;
Come, thou shalt see the mockeries of prayer
And learn in time from others to beware;
I stood with guilty blush and downcast eyes,
The angel saw and pitied—“Mine the task,”
He said, “to aid what suppliant mortals ask,
To waft their tears, their penitential sighs,
Their grateful prayers, like incense, to the skies;
But ah! how poor the gift the purest give,
How cold the life to God that man can live;
Come, thou shalt see the mockeries of prayer
And learn in time from others to beware;
“Learn that no call by careless lips preferred
For mercy's aid or grace is ever heard.
That when the thoughtless trifler kneels to pray
His words inaudible are swept away,
That even the pious prayer with fervor fraught
To silence sinks, if marred by worldly thought.
Mark, as we enter now, the notes how rare,
How dull, how hushed the sounds of public prayer,
Suppressed the false, irreverent, careless word,
How few, how low, how faint, the voices heard!”
For mercy's aid or grace is ever heard.
That when the thoughtless trifler kneels to pray
His words inaudible are swept away,
That even the pious prayer with fervor fraught
To silence sinks, if marred by worldly thought.
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How dull, how hushed the sounds of public prayer,
Suppressed the false, irreverent, careless word,
How few, how low, how faint, the voices heard!”
Placed by the altar now, I looked around,
I saw lips moving, but without sound;
I listened for the organ's solemn strain,
The player toiled on but all his toil was vain;
He prest the yielding keys with useless skill,
No sounds sonorous answered at his will;
From the full choir, though straining every throat,
My watchful ear could catch no answering note,
And for the voice of worship long and loud
A dreary silence settled on the crowd.
I saw lips moving, but without sound;
I listened for the organ's solemn strain,
The player toiled on but all his toil was vain;
He prest the yielding keys with useless skill,
No sounds sonorous answered at his will;
From the full choir, though straining every throat,
My watchful ear could catch no answering note,
And for the voice of worship long and loud
A dreary silence settled on the crowd.
One voice at last I heard, distinct and clear.
The voice of childhood stole upon my ear,
A voice of prayer like those that cherubs raise,
The voice that God has made perfected praise:
Another too, a broken-hearted cry
For mercy, simply uttered, reached the sky,
Humbly from publican and sinner given—
The angel heard and sped its way to Heaven;
And as he marked the voice, the cry, a smile
Radiant as sunlight flashed along the aisle,
Seraphic rapture shining from his face
Touched every breast and filled the sacred place.
The voice of childhood stole upon my ear,
A voice of prayer like those that cherubs raise,
The voice that God has made perfected praise:
Another too, a broken-hearted cry
For mercy, simply uttered, reached the sky,
Humbly from publican and sinner given—
The angel heard and sped its way to Heaven;
And as he marked the voice, the cry, a smile
Radiant as sunlight flashed along the aisle,
Seraphic rapture shining from his face
Touched every breast and filled the sacred place.
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“Search now their hearts and see,” the angel said,
“From what foul springs devotion's stream is fed;
The natures see, how tainted and impure,
That Mercy saves and Grace and Love endure;
Judge from their hearts their homage to the skies,
Judge what the gift to God's all-seeing eyes.”
“From what foul springs devotion's stream is fed;
The natures see, how tainted and impure,
That Mercy saves and Grace and Love endure;
Judge from their hearts their homage to the skies,
Judge what the gift to God's all-seeing eyes.”
At once to higher powers my spirit woke,
My sight grew keener as the angel spoke;
Clear through all hearts I looked and saw within
The serpent forms of every cherished sin,
Envy, a hissing snake, and by its side
Slander of noisome breath and sneering pride,
Ambition, Vanity's fantastic train,
Profusion, and the greedy love of gain;
Deep in the soul concealed the reptile's nest,
Its slimy trail, a glance, a frown, confest,
A scornful smile, a supercilious stare,
An anxious, clouded brow of worldly care,
Titter, and leer, and smirk demure and sly—
Even in the pulpit lurked hypocrisy.
My sight grew keener as the angel spoke;
Clear through all hearts I looked and saw within
The serpent forms of every cherished sin,
Envy, a hissing snake, and by its side
Slander of noisome breath and sneering pride,
Ambition, Vanity's fantastic train,
Profusion, and the greedy love of gain;
Deep in the soul concealed the reptile's nest,
Its slimy trail, a glance, a frown, confest,
A scornful smile, a supercilious stare,
An anxious, clouded brow of worldly care,
Titter, and leer, and smirk demure and sly—
Even in the pulpit lurked hypocrisy.
God's house a lair of unclean creatures made,
Half pitying, half indignant, I surveyed,
A cloud of sorrow o'er my spirit hung
And sharp rebukes stood trembling on my tongue.
Half pitying, half indignant, I surveyed,
A cloud of sorrow o'er my spirit hung
And sharp rebukes stood trembling on my tongue.
The angel saw—“You mourn and scorn the scene,”
He said, “Yet such your services have been;
Like these your heart with passion's breath was stirred,
Like these your prayer unworthy to be heard;
Ah! could you witness in the realms above
The depth, the fervor, of Seraphic love.
He said, “Yet such your services have been;
Like these your heart with passion's breath was stirred,
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Ah! could you witness in the realms above
The depth, the fervor, of Seraphic love.
“Then might you know the mercy that can bear
Your hollow forms and mockery of prayer,
And from the reverent praise of angels know
How poor your heartless service here below.
But mark with care the lesson learned to-day,
For warmer zeal, for holier reverence pray,
Lest from the lesson come a darker doom
And deeper horrors meet you in the tomb.”
Your hollow forms and mockery of prayer,
And from the reverent praise of angels know
How poor your heartless service here below.
But mark with care the lesson learned to-day,
For warmer zeal, for holier reverence pray,
Lest from the lesson come a darker doom
And deeper horrors meet you in the tomb.”
The voice was still—I, started and amazed,
Around my chamber, half awakened gazed;
The bells were hushed, and in my easy chair
I felt again the balmy summer air,
Through open windows saw the garden bowers
Of vines and roses and its beds of flowers,
And knew that He, supreme and blest, above
Who pours on grateful worlds his gifts of love,
Who late had turned my footsteps from the grave,
Gave too this dream my erring soul to save.
Oh! may the voice of warning sent to chide
My past neglect, my future service guide,
A warmer love, a firmer faith impart,
Shape all my life and purify my heart,
My thoughts, my powers, enlighten and refine
Till Heaven and all its boundless joys be mine.
Around my chamber, half awakened gazed;
The bells were hushed, and in my easy chair
I felt again the balmy summer air,
Through open windows saw the garden bowers
Of vines and roses and its beds of flowers,
And knew that He, supreme and blest, above
Who pours on grateful worlds his gifts of love,
Who late had turned my footsteps from the grave,
Gave too this dream my erring soul to save.
Oh! may the voice of warning sent to chide
My past neglect, my future service guide,
A warmer love, a firmer faith impart,
Shape all my life and purify my heart,
My thoughts, my powers, enlighten and refine
Till Heaven and all its boundless joys be mine.
| Selected poems by William J. Grayson | |