 | The poetical works of Lucy Larcom |  |
61
NATURE AND THE BOOK.
I heard one say but now: “Shut up the Book;
For Nature tells the story better still.
The fingered pages have a musty look;
The wide green margins of the mountain rill,
The running notes of ripples on the beach,
The open scroll of the blue firmament,
In loftier language the same lesson teach:
Will not the broader truth thy mind content?
The cover of thy book may be a door
To shut the elder gospel out of sight.
It tells thee only that which WAS before;
God said, ere it was writ, ‘Let there be light!’
And light is everywhere,—around, within;
Earth luminous with heaven: what more wilt ask?
The Eternal Effluence is thy next of kin:
Lay clogs aside, and in full freedom bask.”
For Nature tells the story better still.
The fingered pages have a musty look;
The wide green margins of the mountain rill,
The running notes of ripples on the beach,
The open scroll of the blue firmament,
In loftier language the same lesson teach:
Will not the broader truth thy mind content?
The cover of thy book may be a door
To shut the elder gospel out of sight.
It tells thee only that which WAS before;
God said, ere it was writ, ‘Let there be light!’
And light is everywhere,—around, within;
Earth luminous with heaven: what more wilt ask?
The Eternal Effluence is thy next of kin:
Lay clogs aside, and in full freedom bask.”
The Book lay open on the window-sill,
And morning-glories leaned across the leaf
Whereon is written “Whosoever will,”—
Also that story which hath lightened grief,
And dried within its source the mourner's tear,—
The story of a City built of light
Transmitted through all precious lustres clear,
Within whose gem-walled streets shall be no night!
And morning-glories leaned across the leaf
Whereon is written “Whosoever will,”—
Also that story which hath lightened grief,
And dried within its source the mourner's tear,—
The story of a City built of light
Transmitted through all precious lustres clear,
Within whose gem-walled streets shall be no night!
The morning-glories let the sunrise through,
Shedding a various glow upon the Word:
With sumptuous lines of purple, red, and blue,
Familiar promises were underscored.
I read and mused until my heart spoke out:
“Nature saith ‘Is,’ but addeth not ‘Shall be,’
Which God hath written here past any doubt;
The words that human eyes ached long to see.
We might have guessed it. Some, the saintly-strong
And clear of insight, know that unto life,
Which is of Him, his endless years belong,
And are at rest from inward questioning strife.
Shedding a various glow upon the Word:
With sumptuous lines of purple, red, and blue,
Familiar promises were underscored.
I read and mused until my heart spoke out:
“Nature saith ‘Is,’ but addeth not ‘Shall be,’
Which God hath written here past any doubt;
The words that human eyes ached long to see.
We might have guessed it. Some, the saintly-strong
And clear of insight, know that unto life,
Which is of Him, his endless years belong,
And are at rest from inward questioning strife.
“But few live on the mountain-peaks of thought,
And fewer still keep holy instinct pure:
To sin, as unto weakness, hath He brought
This lamp, to make the homeward pathway sure.
Shall we blow out our torch, because the sun
Shone yesterday, and will to-morrow shine?
Too much of work remaineth to be done,
And every gleam we toil by, is divine.
And fewer still keep holy instinct pure:
To sin, as unto weakness, hath He brought
This lamp, to make the homeward pathway sure.
Shall we blow out our torch, because the sun
Shone yesterday, and will to-morrow shine?
Too much of work remaineth to be done,
And every gleam we toil by, is divine.
62
“Wherefore should He permit these flowers to bloom,
That rays from earth's great luminary break?
Because to us its dazzling blaze were gloom:
Of ravelled rainbows beauty's web we make.
Jewel and blossom, shaded leaf and star
Give no full revelation of the light:
Colors but letters of an alphabet are,
Pointing us backward to the primitive white.
The common eye needs every tint and tone;
The soul of man, much more, God's faintest word.
His glory through our mortal thought hath shone;
When saint or prophet speaks, He still is heard:
And in the Revelation of the Book,—
For surely He most brother-like hath come,—
As in a mirror on his face we look,
So reassured, when Nature seemeth dumb.
That rays from earth's great luminary break?
Because to us its dazzling blaze were gloom:
Of ravelled rainbows beauty's web we make.
Jewel and blossom, shaded leaf and star
Give no full revelation of the light:
Colors but letters of an alphabet are,
Pointing us backward to the primitive white.
The common eye needs every tint and tone;
The soul of man, much more, God's faintest word.
His glory through our mortal thought hath shone;
When saint or prophet speaks, He still is heard:
And in the Revelation of the Book,—
For surely He most brother-like hath come,—
As in a mirror on his face we look,
So reassured, when Nature seemeth dumb.
“Yet will I listen to the ancient Voice,
Forever new, that speaks in wind and wave;
It is the self-same tale; let me rejoice
In joy that his bewildered children have,
For they are glad in Him, the God Unknown!
Oh, that they knew the sacred emphasis
The Word on Nature's loveliness has thrown,
And how the world by Christ's face lighted is,—
As if new sunshine brake into the air,
As if fresh odors burst from everything!
This Book is a wide window, opening fair
Into the splendors of immortal Spring:
Nor shall it now be shut again on earth
Until that City, the dear Bride, descends,
All souls resound the heavenly marriage-mirth,
And all the blindness sin has brought us ends.”
Forever new, that speaks in wind and wave;
It is the self-same tale; let me rejoice
In joy that his bewildered children have,
For they are glad in Him, the God Unknown!
Oh, that they knew the sacred emphasis
The Word on Nature's loveliness has thrown,
And how the world by Christ's face lighted is,—
As if new sunshine brake into the air,
As if fresh odors burst from everything!
This Book is a wide window, opening fair
Into the splendors of immortal Spring:
Nor shall it now be shut again on earth
Until that City, the dear Bride, descends,
All souls resound the heavenly marriage-mirth,
And all the blindness sin has brought us ends.”
| The poetical works of Lucy Larcom | |