 | The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder |  |
2. PART II
A CHRISTMAS HYMN
I
Tell me what is this innumerable throngSinging in the heavens a loud angelic song?
These are they who come with swift and shining feet
From round about the throne of God the Lord of Light to greet.
II
O, who are these that hasten beneath the starry sky,As if with joyful tidings that through the world shall fly?
The faithful shepherds these, who greatly were afeared
When, as they watched their flocks by night, the heavenly host appeared.
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III
Who are these that follow across the hills of nightA star that westward hurries along the fields of light?
Three wise men from the east who myrrh and treasure bring
To lay them at the feet of him their Lord and Christ and King.
IV
What babe new-born is this that in a manger cries?Near on her bed of pain his happy mother lies.
O, see! the air is shaken with white and heavenly wings—
This is the Lord of all the earth, this is the King of Kings.
V
Tell me, how may I join in this holy feastWith all the kneeling world, and I of all the least?
Fear not, O faithful heart, but bring what most is meet:
Bring love alone, true love alone, and lay it at his feet.
EASTER
I
When in the starry gloomThey sought the Lord Christ's tomb,
Two angels stood in sight,
All drest in burning white,
Who unto the women said:
“Why seek ye the living among the dead?”
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II
His life, his hope, his heart,With death they had no part;
For this those words of scorn
First heard that holy morn,
When the waiting angels said:
“Why seek ye the living among the dead?”
III
O, ye of this latter day,Who journey the selfsame way—
Through morning's twilight gloom
Back to the shadowy tomb;
To you, as to them, was it said:
“Why seek ye the living among the dead?”
IV
The Lord is risen indeed,He is here for your love, for your need—
Not in the grave, nor the sky,
But here where men live and die;
And true the word that was said:
“Why seek ye the living among the dead?”
V
Wherever are tears and sighs,Wherever are children's eyes,
Where man calls man his brother,
And loves as himself another,
Christ lives! The angels said:
“Why seek ye the living among the dead?”
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A MADONNA OF FRA LIPPO LIPPI
No heavenly maid we here behold,
Tho' round her brow a ring of gold;
This baby, solemn-eyed and sweet,
Is human all from head to feet.
Tho' round her brow a ring of gold;
This baby, solemn-eyed and sweet,
Is human all from head to feet.
Together close her palms are prest
In worship of that godly guest;
But glad her heart and unafraid
While on her neck his hand is laid.
In worship of that godly guest;
But glad her heart and unafraid
While on her neck his hand is laid.
Two children, happy, laughing, gay,
Uphold the little child in play;
Not flying angels these, what tho'
Four wings from their four shoulders grow.
Uphold the little child in play;
Not flying angels these, what tho'
Four wings from their four shoulders grow.
Fra Lippo, we have learned from thee
A lesson of humanity;
To every mother's heart forlorn,
In every house the Christ is born.
A lesson of humanity;
To every mother's heart forlorn,
In every house the Christ is born.
COST
Because Heaven's cost is Hell, and perfect joyHurts as hurts sorrow; and because we win
Some boon of grace with the dread cost of sin,
Or suffering born of sin; because the alloy
Of blood but makes the bliss of victory brighter;
Because true worth hath surest proof herein,
That it should be reproached, and called akin
To evil things—black making white the whiter;
Because no cost seems great near this—that He
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And none could name a darker infamy
Than that a god was spit upon,—enticed
By those he came to save, to the accursèd tree,—
For this I know that Christ indeed is Christ.
THE SONG OF A HEATHEN
(SOJOURNING IN GALILEE, A. D. 32)
I
If Jesus Christ is a man,—And only a man,—I say
That of all mankind I cleave to him,
And to him will I cleave alway.
II
If Jesus Christ is a God,—And the only God,—I swear
I will follow Him through heaven and hell,
The earth, the sea, and the air!
HOLY LAND
This is the earth he walked on; not aloneThat Asian country keeps the sacred stain;
Ah, not alone the far Judæan plain,
Mountain and river! Lo, the sun that shone
On him, shines now on us; when day is gone
The moon of Galilee comes forth again
And lights our path as his; an endless chain
Of years and sorrows makes the round world one.
The air we breathe, he breathed—the very air
That took the mold and music of his high
And godlike speech. Since then shall mortal dare
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Soil with foul deed the ground whereon he laid
In holy death his pale, immortal head!
ON A PORTRAIT OF SERVETUS
Thou grim and haggard wanderer, who dost lookWith haunting eyes forth from the narrow page!
I know what fires consumed with inward rage
Thy broken frame, what tempests chilled and shook.
Ah, could not thy remorseless foeman brook
Time's sure devourment, but must needs assuage
His anger in thy blood, and blot the age
With that dark crime which virtue's semblance took!
Servetus! that which slew thee lives to-day,
Tho' in new forms it taints our modern air;
Still in heaven's name the deeds of hell are done;
Still on the high-road, 'neath the noonday sun,
The fires of hate are lit for them who dare
Follow their Lord along the untrodden way.
“DESPISE NOT THOU”
Despise not thou thy father's ancient creed;Of his pure life it was the golden thread
Whereon bright days were gathered, bead by bead,
Till death laid low that dear and reverend head.
From olden faith how many a glorious deed
Hath lit the world; its blood-stained banner led
The martyrs heavenward; yea, it was the seed
Of knowledge, whence our modern freedom spread.
Not always has man's credo proved a snare—
But a deliverance, a sign, a flame
To purify the dense and pestilent air,
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And 'neath the shadow of the dread eclipse
It shines on dying eyes and pallid lips.
“TO REST FROM WEARY WORK”
To rest from weary work one day of seven;One day to turn our backs upon the world,
Its soil wash from us, and strive on to Heaven—
Whereto we daily climb, but quick are hurled
Down to the pit of human pride and sin.
Help me, ye powers celestial! to come nigh;
Ah, let me catch one little glimpse within
The heavenly city, lest my spirit die.
These be my guides, my messengers, my friends:
Books of wise poets; the musician's art;
The ocean whose deep music never ends;
The silence of the forest's shadowy heart;
Not less the brooding organ's solemn blare,
And kneeling multitudes' low-murmuring prayer.
| The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | |