 | Eonchs of ruby. A Gift of Love |  |
114
BURDENS OF UNREST.
MARY'S LAMENT FOR SHELLEY LOST AT SEA.
“Stay for me there! I will not fail
To meet thee in that hollow vale!”—
Bishop Henry King
To meet thee in that hollow vale!”—
Bishop Henry King
“Thou wilt not be consoled—I wonder not!”—
Shelley.
Shelley.
I.
I hear thy spirit calling unto meFrom out the deep,
Like Archytas from old Venetia's sea,
While I here weep!
Saying, Come, strew my body with the sand,
And bury me upon the land, the land—
Out of this sea, dear Mary! on the land, the land!
II.
Oh! never, never more! no, never more!Lost in the deep!
Will thy sweet beauty visit this dark shore,
Where I now weep!
For thou art gone forevermore from me,
Sweet Mariner! lost, murdered by the sea!
Ulysses of my soul's deep love lost in the sea!
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III.
Ever—forevermore, bright, glorious one,Drowned in the deep!
In Spring-time—Summer—Winter—all alone—
Must I here weep!
Thou spirit of my soul! thou light of life!
While thou art absent, Shelley, from thy wife!
Absent, dear Swan of Albion, from thy weeping wife!
IV.
Celestial pleasure once to contemplateThy power, great Deep!
Possest my soul! but evermore shall hate,
While I here weep!
Crowd out thy memory from my soul, oh! Sea!
For killing him who was so dear to me!
More dear than Heaven's high Lord to Mary unto me!
V.
He was the incarnation of pure Truth,Oh! mighty Deep!
And thou didst murder him in prime of youth,
For whom I weep!
And, murdering him, didst more than murder me!
Who was my Heaven on earth, oh! treacherous Sea!
My more than Heaven on earth, oh! more than murderous Sea!
VI.
My spirit wearied not to succor his,Oh! mighty Deep!
The oftener done the greater was the bliss;
But now I weep!
And where his beauty lay, unceasing pain
Now dwells—my heart can know no joy again!
Poor Doveless Ark! can know no joy on earth again!
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VII.
God of my fathers! God of that bright OneDrowned in the Deep!
Shall we not meet again beyond the sun—
No more to weep?
Yes, I shall meet him there—the lost—the bright—
The glorious Shelley! Spring of my delight!
Fountain of all my pleasure! life of my delight!
VIII.
Now, like Orion on some cloudless nightAbove the Deep,
I see his soul look down from Heaven—how bright!
While I here weep!
And there, like Hesperus the stars of even,
Beckon my soul away to him in Heaven—
Sitting, star-crowned, upon the highest still in Heaven!
“Horace represents the spirit of Archytas addressing itself, from the Gulf of Venice, to a Mariner, earnestly requesting him to strew light sand over his body, which lay unburied on the beach.”—
Buck's Beauties and Sublimities of Nature.117
THE CHAPLET OF CYPRESS.
AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF MY SISTER.
“The Good die first.”
I.
Up through the hyaline ether-sea,Star-diademed, in chariot of pure pain,
Through th' empyreal star-fires radiantly,
Triumphant over Death in Heaven to reign
Thy soul is gone, seeking its Blest Abode,
Where break the songs of stars against the feet of God.
II.
At Heaven's high portals thou dost stand,Bands of attendant Angels by thy side—
Gazing with rapture on the Promised Land—
Pale—meek—with thy last sickness, purified,
By suffering, from the sins of earth, to be
A white-robed Angel round God's throne eternally.
III.
Like stars at midnight in the sky,Were all the dark things in this world to thee;
The joys of earth, when thou wert called to die,
Were ringing in thine ears most audibly,
When Angel-voices from the far-off skies,
Poured on thy soul rivers of rapturous melodies
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IV.
Upon thy pale, cold, silent face,Still speaking of the death that thou didst die—
A living light, which Death could not efface,
Was shed, crowning thy young mortality—
As if the power had unto thee been given
To show us here on earth what thou art now in Heaven.
V.
For when thy coffin-lid was moved,Fast flowing tears of endless pity fell
Upon thy pale, cold brow, so much beloved,
From our torn hearts, as we then cried, Farewell!
Like dews upon some withered lily-leaf—
Rivers of sorrow from deep seas of bitter grief!
VI.
At thine, the newest grave dug here,Beside our parents' graves, we humbly bow,
Offering our hearts to God in silent prayer—
Asking ourselves who of us next must go
Where thou art gone, to see what thou hast seen—
To be what thou art now, if now what thou hast been!
VII.
I recollect the last long nightWe played together—brothers—sisters—all—
Took notice of the infinite delight
That filled thy soul, till laughter's waterfall
Gushed, gurgling from thy lips in joyful flow—
And this, dear One! was only three short months ago!
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VIII.
Then thou wert gayer than the gay,And full of pleasure to the very brim—
Whiling, with gladness, all thy time away—
Not thinking thou wert soon to go to Him—
Thy Father's father, there, in Heaven, to shine
With thy dear mother—brother—sister Adaline!
IX.
Thou wilt behold my Florence there,And she will know thee in that world above,
By that, which, wanting, makes us strangers here!
And she will love thee with the same deep love
She loved me in this world, if thou wilt tell
Her thou art my dear sister—Angel! fare-thee-well!
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THRENODY.
COMPOSED ON THE DEATH OF MY LITTLE BOY.
“I will complain in the bitterness of my soul.”—
Job, vii. 11.
Job, vii. 11.
I.
By the Waters of Salvation,Christ's Salvation, full of pain—
Christ's Salvation, in probation,
I sit down in tribulation,
And now write this Lamentation
For the lost, the early slain!
Waiting, (hoping for salvation,)
For his coming back again.
II.
Ah! Angelic was my Tommy,Tommy, Death has early slain,
Tommy taken early from me!
Whose sweet life did so become me,
That his death doth now consume me—
Parching up my heart with pain!
Ah! Angelic was my Tommy—
Never coming back again!
III.
How I miss him in the summer,Summer of the Golden Grain—
Summer, when the dove doth murmur
For the mate that is torn from her—
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All her heart's melodious pain!
Waiting all the livelong summer
For his coming back again!
IV.
Early frosted Flower of Aiden,Aiden where there is no pain—
Aiden where the soul lives laden
With the joys that are unfaden—
Saintly Lily, infant maiden,
Ada of my heart of pain!
Thou art with him now in Aiden—
Never coming back again!
V.
Like the glorified Orion,Blest Orion who was slain!
Bright Orion who lives high on
High Eternity's Mount Zion—
So my little Christ did die on
This dark Calvary of pain!
Like the glorified Orion—
Never coming back again!
VI.
In that undefiled bright Thule,Thule of eternal gain—
Thule were the soul sees newly
From the Isles of Inatula
To the golden bowered Beula,
Where his Saviour Christ doth reign;
In that undefiled bright Thule—
Never coming back again!
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VII.
All my days are spent in weeping,Weeping for the early slain—
Weeping, patient vigils keeping
By the grave where he is sleeping,
Sorrow from Death's field still reaping
Reaping for the early slain!
All my days are spent in weeping
For his coming back again!
VIII.
On the earth are now no traces,Traces of his former reign—
Traces, where the joyful faces
Of his sisters, like the Graces,
Made an Eden of the places
Where they met in my domain;
On the earth are now no traces
Of his coming back again!
IX.
I shall never more see Pleasure,Pleasure never more, but pain—
Pleasure, losing that dear treasure
Whom I loved here without measure,
Whose sweet eyes were Heaven's own azure,
Sparkling, mild, like sunny rain!
I shall never more see Pleasure
For his coming back again!
X.
How my weary soul doth miss him,Miss him here in bitter pain—
Miss him when I want to kiss him,
At the night when I should bless him,
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For the bed where he has lain!
How my soul doth always miss him—
Never coming back again!
XI.
How we miss his songs of gladness,Gladness far too deep for pain—
Gladness too divine for sadness,
Poured with such exultant madness
That it seemed just done for badness,
As in sunshine falls the rain;
All my soul is turned to sadness
For his coming back again!
XII.
How my soul doth long to meet him,Meet him in this world again—
Meet him where I used to greet him,
As the Saints in Heaven now treat him—
On my vacant knees to seat him,
Where in joy he used to reign;
How my soul doth long to meet him
In this trying world again!
XIII.
Where the nightingale sits singing,Singing with impassioned pain—
Singing, while the Heavens are ringing
With his river-song upspringing—
Into Heaven his soul went winging
Of its way with Christ to reign;
There my little Bird sits singing—
Never coming back again!
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XIV.
All my tears are unavailing,Unavailing all this pain—
Unavailing all this wailing
Of my heart that now is failing
With its weight of wo, unveiling
All my soul's deep grief in vain!
All my sighs are unavailing—
He will never come again!
XV.
Soon my sighing soul, death-blighted,Blighted, racked with bitter pain—
Blighted, burthened, all benighted,
Shall in Heaven above be righted,
Glorified, redeemed, requited,
When it meets my early slain;
There to wait no more death-blighted,
For his coming back again.
XVI.
Hang thy harp upon the willow,Willow weeping tears of rain—
Willow shading the soft billow
Of his grave with light so mellow,
Just above the satin pillow
Where his head so long has lain!
Hang thy harp upon the willow—
He will never come again!
125
XVII.
Ah! when shall I ever hold him,Hold him in these arms again?
Hold him, tenderly enfold him,
And with tears of joy behold him,
And retell what I have told him—
Kissing him with joyful pain!—
Up in Heaven I shall behold him—
I shall meet him there again.
126
THE VIOLET IN THE VALLEY OF DEATH.
AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF MY LITTLE CHILD.
[_]
When Solon wept for the death of his son, some one said, “Weeping will not help.” He answered, “Alas! therefore, I weep, because weeping will not help!”
I.
Hushed is now thy bitter crying,Folded in the calm serene
Of the peace of God undying,
Beautiful divine Eugene!
For thy soul ascends, returning
Back to Heaven where it was born,
With Beatus in it burning
For the Everlasting Morn.
May the Lord in Heaven have mercy
On thy soul, my darling child!
Precious blue-eyed Eugene Percy!
Blessed babe that never smiled!
II.
Tenderest tears of sorrow everFrom my heart's deep fount shall flow,
Watering Love's sweet flower forever,
Which by tears can only grow.
Losing that divinest treasure
God in Heaven had given to me,
Nothing now can give me pleasure,
But the Hopes of meeting thee.
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On thy soul, my darling child!
Precious blue-eyed Eugene Percy!
Blessed babe that never smiled!
III.
Like the Moon in her own splendor,Waning on some cloudless night,
Lay thy lily-limbs so tender,
Shrouded in their own pure light
Now thy blessed star-like spirit,
Glory-circled, full of love,
Doth the joys of Heaven inherit,
Cradled in Christ's breast above.
Thus the Lord of Heaven has mercy
On thy soul, my darling child!
Precious blue-eyed Eugene Percy!
Blessed babe that never smiled!
IV.
From the Fountains Everlasting,Flowing out of God's great store,
Thy pure spirit now is tasting
Bliss divine forever more.
In the golden sunny silence
Of the bliss of God serene—
Young Dove of the Blessed Islands
Liveth my divine Eugene.
Thus the Lord in Heaven has mercy
On thy soul, my darling child!
Precious blue-eyed Eugene Percy!
Blessed babe that never smiled!
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V.
Underneath the saintly rosesBlooming round me while I weep,
Near where Florence now reposes—
Take thy fill of peaceful sleep.
Silent on thy satin pillow
Rest thy pensive little head,
While above the weeping willow
Tells my sorrows for the dead!
For the Lord in Heaven has mercy
On thy soul, my darling child!
Precious blue-eyed Eugene Percy!
Blessed babe that never smiled!
129
TO ISA IN HEAVEN.
“Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew.
She sparkled, was exhaled and went to heaven!”—
Young.
She sparkled, was exhaled and went to heaven!”—
Young.
I.
Where is she now?Oh! Isa! tell me where thou art?
If Death has laid his hand upon thy brow,
Has he not touched my heart?
Has he not laid it in the grave with thine,
And buried all my joys?—Speak! thou art mine!
II.
If thou wert dead,I would not ask thee to reply;
But thou art living—thy dear soul has fled
To Heaven where it can never die!
Then why not come to me? Return—return,
And comfort me, for I have much to mourn!
III.
I sigh all day!I mourn for thee the livelong night!
And when the next night comes, thou art away,
And so is absent my delight!
Oh! as the lone dove for his absent mate,
So is my soul for thee disconsolate!
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IV.
I long for death—For any thing—to be with thee!
I did inhale, alas! thy dying breath,
That it might have some power on me
To make me what thou art!—but, thou art dead!
And I am here!—it strengthened me instead!
V.
Joy there is none—It went into the grave with thee!
And Grief, because my spirit is alone,
Is all that comes to comfort me!
The very air I breathe is turned to sighs,
And all my soul seems melting from mine eyes.
VI.
I hear, at even,The liquid carol of the birds;
Their music makes me think of thee in Heaven,
It is so much like thy sweet words.
The brooklet whispers, as it runs along,
Our first love-story with its liquid tongue.
VII.
Wake, Isa! wake!And come back in this world again!
Oh! come down to me, for my soul's dear sake,
And cure me of this trying pain!
I would give all that earth to man can be,
If thou wert only in this world with me!
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VIII.
Day after dayI seek thee, but thou art not near!
I sit down by thy grave in the cold clay,
And listen for thy soul!—oh! dear!
And when some withered leaf falls from the tree,
I start, as if thy soul had spoke to me!
IX.
And so it is,And so it evermore must be
To him, who has been robbed of all the bliss
He ever knew, by losing thee!
For Misery, in thine absence, is my wife!
What Joy had been, hadst thou remained in life!
X.
It is now even!The birds have sung themselves to sleep;
And all the stars seem coming out of Heaven,
As if to look upon me weep!—
Oh! let me not look up to thee in vain,
But come back to me in this world again!
132
THE CROSS OF MY CROWN.
I.
If thou wert dead I would not weep,For then my spirit soon would be
Free from this sorrow which now makes me keep
Such vigils of deep agony
Forever more for thee.
II.
I once did think, in my deep love,That thou wert never born to die;
But came down solely from the Heavens above
To live with me eternally,
As thou didst live on high.
III.
But since thou hast been false to me,I know that thou wert born to die;
For wanting that sweet Heavenly purity
The Angels have in Heaven on high—
Doth breed mortality!
IV.
I sigh for thee the livelong day—I mourn for thee the long, long night!
For Heaven thus absent from my soul alway,
Shuts out forever from my sight
My heart's divine delight!
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V.
Thou wert the world wherein I dwelt—Lost now since thou art gone from me!
The only Heaven to which my spirit knelt,
And worshiped, weeping, wonderingly—
Finding my God in thee!
VI.
But now—since thou art false to me—I am of mine own soul afraid!
For if the Angel that once dwelt in thee,
Was Hell in Heaven's own light arrayed—
What may not Heaven be made?
VII.
If thou wert all this world to me,What have I now since thou art gone?
But worldless Hell—but Heavenless misery—
And bitter torments only known
To him who loves—but lives alone!
134
SONG FROM THE INNER LIFE.
I.
Sing to the Lord, oh! weary soul of sorrow!Sing to the Lord, though chastened by his rod!
Sing to the Lord that others hope may borrow—
“The pure in heart see God.”
II.
Sink not beneath the yoke of tribulation,Poor weary mortal on life's thorny road!
But bear up stately with this consolation—
“The pure in heart see God.”
III.
Take up thy Cross—when thou art weary laden,Think how Christ sank beneath the heavy load!
High over Calvary shines the Heavenly Aiden—
“The pure in heart see God.”
IV.
Cherish the Golden Words that he has spoken,Then march up Calvary with thy heavy load,
Where his pure body on the Cross was broken—
“The pure in heart see God.”
135
V.
His yoke is easy—light, too, is his burden—Death is the Gate to his Divine Abode—
The Land of Promise lies beyond the Jordan—
“The pure in heart see God.”
VI.
Angels of Light their vigils now are keeping,Crowding the ladder up to Heaven's Abode—
While Jacob soft on Bethel-Plain lies sleeping—
“The pure in heart see God.”
VII.
A flood of glory down from Heaven comes streaming,Washing the Angels white along the road—
While, weary with his wrestling, he lies dreaming—
“The pure in heart see God.”
VIII.
God's golden glory up the East is springing,Flooding with splendor all that Blest Abode,
While Angels cluster at the High Gates singing—
“The pure in heart see God.”
IX.
Rising, re-strengthened, like the Blest ImmortalsClimbing the ladder, from the dewy sod,
He hears again at Heaven's crystalline portals—
“The pure in heart see God.”
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X.
Thus, while the good are on the dark earth sleeping,Weary with travelling on life's thorny road—
Angels around their heads strict watch are keeping—
“The pure in heart see God.”
XI.
So, while the thorns are round the good man springing,Bleeding his feet till they baptize the sod—
Angels of Light are to his high soul singing—
“The pure in heart see God.”
XII.
Wide as Ezekiel's ever-flowing river,No eye could see across it was so broad—
Shall this sweet song flow down the world forever—
“The pure in heart see God.”
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THE FALLEN TEMPLE.
“The man of God lives longer without a tomb than any by one, invisibly interred by angels.”—
Sir Thomas Brown.I.
The body of this man is dead!Once there was wisdom in his head;
Soon he will in the grave be laid—
His soul in immortality arrayed.
II.
For in his body—God-loved One!It dwelt as light does in the sun;
But now his Week of Life is done—
The Sabbath of sweet rest begun.
III.
In Death's great whirlwind he did hearGod's voice upon his listening ear
Breaking in accents silver-clear—
“The Goal that thou dost seek is near.”
IV.
His soul with wisdom was replete;He walked with Hell beneath his feet;
The music that he made was sweet;
Beside God's throne he takes his seat.
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V.
God's splendor round his head did glow,Because his heart did overflow
With pity for another's woe—
Such goodness God alone could know.
VI.
His heart replied unto his head—With wisdom it was always fed;
One to the other ministered—
For what one felt the other said.
VII.
His Angel-soul was made to beA Green Isle in God's Silver Sea,
Whose thoughts were Flowers of Poetry,
Blooming therein eternally.
VIII.
Such prospect did his soul command,From this dark world, where he did stand,
He saw in Heaven the Promised Land—
Beyond the starry shining band.
IX.
Then did his giant soul give birthTo this great thought in going forth—
The greatest, God-like thing on earth
Is homage done to human worth.
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X.
Prophetic music did he makeFor his own soul's eternal sake,
When Death did all his heart-strings break—
Then from life's death did he awake.
XI.
With intellectual travail throesDid he give birth to those great woes
Which no one but the Poet knows—
And, knowing, knoweth no repose.
140
THE LILY OF HEAVEN.
I.
Now in her snow-white shroud she lies—(Her lily lids half veil her eyes)—
As if she looked with wild surprise
Up at her soul in Paradise.
II.
Her hands lie folded on her breast—Crossed like the Cross that gave her rest;
She looks as if some heavenly guest
Had told her that her soul was blest.
III.
She lies as if she seemed to hearSphere-music breaking on her ear—
Breaking in accents silver-clear—
In concert with her soul up there.
IV.
Her body was the Temple brightIn which her soul dwelt full of light,
Triumphing over Death's dark night—
High Heaven laid open to the sight.
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V.
Burning with pure seraphic love,Veiled in the meekness of the dove—
Her soul, now all things past to prove,
Looks down on me from Heaven above.
VI.
For her Religion grew more bright,The darker grew the world's dark night—
Filling her soul with such pure light,
High heaven seemed opened to her sight.
VII.
The calmness of divinest caseRests on her brow—upon her face—
Expressive of her soul's release
From this dark world to one of peace.
VIII.
Her pale, cold, silent lips, comprest,Speak out to me, most manifest,
A silent language, of the rest
That she now feels among the blest.
IX.
I wept warm tears upon her face,As she lay there in Death's embrace;
Whereon no passion could we trace—
But calmness—meekness—heavenly grace.
X.
With saintly, pale-face thus she wentOut of this world's great discontent,
Up through the starry firmament,
Into the Place of Pure Content.
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CATHOLIC HYMN TO THE VIRGIN.
I.
Santa Maria! hear! oh! hear!And turn to me thy gracious ear;
For thou art to the sorrowing near,
And, to the Catholic ever dear!
II.
Like some clear fountain, deep as strong,My soul doth pour out, all night long,
Deep gushes of ecstatic song,
Begging thee to forgive my wrong!
III.
Thy Son, dear Mary! though on high,Is to the needy ever nigh—
Ready to help them when they sigh—
He will not suffer me to die!
IV.
Speak not, dear Mary! for he hearsMy bitter cries—beholds my tears!
Soon he will banish all my fears,
And give me strength for future years.
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V.
Reach down thy lily hand so white,And lift me up from this dark night,
To where thy Son, in glory bright,
Sits now arrayed in robes of light.
VI.
For how my soul doth long to goOut of this world of suffering so—
Suffering as he did here below—
Thy Son alone in Heaven dost know!
VII.
For those that were most dear to meAre gone now to eternity—
Living in Angel-purity,
Star-crowned, around God's throne with thee!
VIII.
A respite from this trying painMy soul now seeks in song again—
Wasting away my heart to gain
Thy blissful love—but not in vain.
IX.
I think I hear thy soft repliesDawning upon me from the skies—
Wiping the heart-dew from mine eyes,
Till all my grief within me dies.
X.
My soul, now purified by thought,Into thy blissful arms is caught,
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Comes when we most expect it not.
XI.
Such rapture now my heart doth swellAs nothing earthly can excel—
Lifting me up from this dark Hell
To Heaven above with thee to dwell.
XII.
The bloody sweat oozed from the browOf thy dear Son on earth below!
And how my soul doth love him now,
That Son alone in Heaven dost know.
145
SONG OF LE VERRIER
ON DISCOVERING A NEW PLANET.
I.
Circling the Cyclic-chorus of the spheres,Sphering the Epicycle of his song—
He sings his anthems, through th' eternal years,
Outside the orb-paths of th' Empyreal throng.
II.
Floating in chariot of celestial fire,Sphered Heavenward through th' Empyreal Ether-Sea,
He rays his sphere-tones out unto the choir
Of God until they fill Eternity.
III.
Tempestuous whirlwinds of deep melodyDash from his orb-prow on his spheric road—
Rolling in mountain-billows on Heaven's sea
Against the white shore of the feet of God.
IV.
Shouting Excelsior to the starry choirFlooded with rapture, now he Heavenward rolls,
Glinting those golden tones of lightning-fire
Proceeding swiftly from the Angels' souls.
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SONNET.
THE RELEASE OF FIONNUALA.
Beside an island in an inland sea,A virgin Swan came, in the time of spring,
Her Heaven-revealing, dying song to sing!
Veiled in the night's divine tranquillity,
Far in the reeds, where she had come to float,
There rose up from her silver-sounding throat
A whirlwind of cherubic melody,
Which hurricaned the silence of the night,
And rapt with an immortal ecstacy—
(Making them think it day in their delight)—
The birds within the solitudes—when right
To Heaven, transfigured, glorified, she went,
Leaving the world in mute astonishment—
Drowned in the deluge of her agony.
“Fionnuala, the daughter of Lir, was, by some supernatural power, transformed into a swan, and condemned to wander, for many hundred years, over certain lakes and rivers in Ireland, till the coming of Christianity, when the sound of the first mass-bell was to be the signal of her release.”
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SHILOH.
“He came as far as to the ANCIENT of days.”—
Literal Version.
Literal Version.
I.
The Gospel he came down to preach,No other one had power to teach;
The highest Angel failed to reach
The music that was in his speech.
II.
Out of his soul's great sea did flowRivers of truth for man to know;
Which, unto those who saw them so,
Made Heaven come down on earth below
III.
Those world-old Truths that lay concealedIn God's great heart—(to him revealed)
Like some great fountain, just unsealed,
Out of his soul in thunder pealed.
IV.
Great Messenger of Heavenly Truth(Perpetual pulchritude his youth)
Sent down from Heaven with God-like ruth
To sing the barren rough world smoothe.
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V.
His God-like voice made dumb the choirOf Heaven with his great Seraph-lyre,
When from his soul divine desire
Gushed forth in notes of living fire.
VI.
His sun-like soul with glory bright,Dissolved away the world's dark night;
Then rising up with Gabriel might,
Went back to Heaven on wings of light.
149
ORPHIC EVANGEL.
I.
When shall the Golden Words that once were spokenBy our great august Lord be heard by men?
His beautiful body on the cross once broken,
Be made the model of our lives again?
This is the burden of my song—
“How long, Oh! Lord! how long?”
II.
How long before the Gabriel Years, all golden,Shall walk the world where Sin has walked so long—
Crushing with God-like tread the Ages Olden
Out of our hearts, that we may grow as strong!
This is the burden of my song—
“How long, Oh! Lord! how long?”
III.
How long before Man's form of Angel-beauty,Dead in earth's tomb, where it has lain so long,
Shall rise again, redeemed, to do its duty,
And, like Christ's Angel, die no more by wrong?
This is the burden of my song—
“How long, Oh! Lord! how long?”
IV.
Like the great Prophet when he stood benighted,Waiting to see God's Sun in glory shine;
My faith-uplifted soul beholds, delighted,
The far-off shining of the Light Divine!
This shall engage my song—
“How long, Oh! Lord! how long?”
150
TO ONE IN PARADISE
I.
Oh! return, love! return from that dark lonely Dwelling,The sad silent grave where thy beauty is laid!
To the heart that is mourning—the bosom now swelling
To pillow thy form lying low with the dead!
Thy beautiful form lying low with the dead!
II.
Oh! return, that mine eyes, which are red now with weeping,May behold thy dear presence once Heaven to me!
And restore the dead Joys that are silently sleeping
Beneath the damp sod in that cold grave with thee!
The cold clammy sod in that dark grave with thee!
III.
Though they say that from death there can be no returning,Oh! break the stern bars that confine thee beneath!
And recall the bright soul that in Heaven is burning
To light back thy form from the Valley of Death!
Thy beautiful form from the Valley of Death!
IV.
Oh! return like the Star that in Heaven is shining—Return to illumine this life's dim abode!
And restore the dark soul that is silently pining
To meet thee again in the bosom of God!
With thy beautiful Christ in the bosom of God!
| Eonchs of ruby. A Gift of Love | |