The Year of the World A Philosophical Poem on "Redemption from The Fall". By William B. Scott |
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 | The Year of the World |  |
5
I.
Some depth unknown, some inner life unlived,
Some thirst unslaked, some hunger which no food
Gathered from earthly thorn or by the knife
In gory shambles stricken can allay,—
Man hopes for or endeavors against hope:
Still hath endeavored; by the law of life
Looking still on; still toiling for some rest
Passing the understanding. This great faith
Who hath not felt? Who hath not in an hour
Of august consciousness beheld descend
Around him (as the exile on the rock
Of Patmos) this Jerusalem, although night
Shut round him as before, and the cold moon
Passed over the horizon of his soul?
And ye past centuries! since the infant-god,
The child-man hath kept count of these his thoughts—
Which of ye hath not heard the loud acclaim,—
Seen the palm leaves spread some Redeemer's path
Leading the way to peace? For ever on
The hope, the toil is borne, and the great torch
Transmitted burns more bright from every tomb.
Some thirst unslaked, some hunger which no food
Gathered from earthly thorn or by the knife
In gory shambles stricken can allay,—
Man hopes for or endeavors against hope:
Still hath endeavored; by the law of life
Looking still on; still toiling for some rest
Passing the understanding. This great faith
Who hath not felt? Who hath not in an hour
Of august consciousness beheld descend
Around him (as the exile on the rock
Of Patmos) this Jerusalem, although night
Shut round him as before, and the cold moon
Passed over the horizon of his soul?
And ye past centuries! since the infant-god,
The child-man hath kept count of these his thoughts—
Which of ye hath not heard the loud acclaim,—
Seen the palm leaves spread some Redeemer's path
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The hope, the toil is borne, and the great torch
Transmitted burns more bright from every tomb.
Some good there is man strives for. This long strife
Through darkness, and in mythos, and in faith,
And in the aggrandizement of self, and in
The weary work of knowledge—shows itself,
Varying yet the same—not pausing, save
To gather strength or garner in the past;
Or turning like the gleaner—not despairing
But in the fear of loss, and oftentimes
Trembling with revelation, but too blind
To learn the many-sided Simpleness
So closely round him, hath the symbol risen
To be the god, and mystery been enshrined—
Domes built with art more perfect than the creed,
Garnished with marble truth, and altars red
With living sacrifice, and rites prescribed,
On days divine, vestments and light of lamps,
Choral rejoicings, censers through whose pores
Issue fine odours, old age ministering
Darkly before a visible sign—that thus
The pain of doubt be felt no more—that thus
We may hold fast the good, draw angels down,
And walk in the cool shades with God in Eden.
Through darkness, and in mythos, and in faith,
And in the aggrandizement of self, and in
The weary work of knowledge—shows itself,
Varying yet the same—not pausing, save
To gather strength or garner in the past;
Or turning like the gleaner—not despairing
But in the fear of loss, and oftentimes
Trembling with revelation, but too blind
To learn the many-sided Simpleness
So closely round him, hath the symbol risen
To be the god, and mystery been enshrined—
Domes built with art more perfect than the creed,
Garnished with marble truth, and altars red
With living sacrifice, and rites prescribed,
On days divine, vestments and light of lamps,
Choral rejoicings, censers through whose pores
Issue fine odours, old age ministering
Darkly before a visible sign—that thus
7
We may hold fast the good, draw angels down,
And walk in the cool shades with God in Eden.
And thus the Hierarch of the Phantasy
This shattered image of the soul reforms
By sensuous tools—and man adores himself—
But everlasting fate holds all; and time
Scatters the chaff as doth the winnowing fan
After the wearied flail. Not this, not this!
Each age repeats, productive not the less;
Exploring still the more; till half the world
Finds wisdom in negation—and a truth
That there is no truth—ending like the search
Of Ceres in the Eleusinian verse,
Who passed with skirt succint through many lands
And over many seas with numerous tears
And prayers for her fair daughter, whom she found
After her mournful tears and prayers no more
Able to rise to Enna and the sun.
This shattered image of the soul reforms
By sensuous tools—and man adores himself—
But everlasting fate holds all; and time
Scatters the chaff as doth the winnowing fan
After the wearied flail. Not this, not this!
Each age repeats, productive not the less;
Exploring still the more; till half the world
Finds wisdom in negation—and a truth
That there is no truth—ending like the search
Of Ceres in the Eleusinian verse,
Who passed with skirt succint through many lands
And over many seas with numerous tears
And prayers for her fair daughter, whom she found
After her mournful tears and prayers no more
Able to rise to Enna and the sun.
Nathless the great idea reigneth still;
The tendency hath neither swerve nor stay;
In all things we behold objective selves,
Part of us yet against us, and within
Kingliness yet unsceptred, and by night
Pillars of fire!
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In all things we behold objective selves,
Part of us yet against us, and within
Kingliness yet unsceptred, and by night
Pillars of fire!
| The Year of the World | |