 | To the end of the trail |  |
69
III
71
THE SONG OF THE WIND
I love yon crystal lakelet,
Her purity and peace;
I sing her love songs from the shore
Amid the leafy trees—
A host of melancholy
And mystic melodies.
Her purity and peace;
I sing her love songs from the shore
Amid the leafy trees—
A host of melancholy
And mystic melodies.
I press my lips to her lips
In the kiss my soul so craves,
Till she blushes into ripples
And dimples into waves—
Till she dimples into eddies,
And blushes into waves.
In the kiss my soul so craves,
Till she blushes into ripples
And dimples into waves—
Till she dimples into eddies,
And blushes into waves.
And, when the night has fallen,
I sleep upon her breast,
For I weary of my burden
Of odors and must rest—
For with surfeit of sweet odors
My spirit is oppressed.
I sleep upon her breast,
For I weary of my burden
Of odors and must rest—
For with surfeit of sweet odors
My spirit is oppressed.
1879.
72
SHAKESPEARE
Bright are the stars of the night;
Fair is each twinkling ray;
But at the earliest light
Of morning they vanish away—
But with the sun's dawning beam
Like ghosts they vanish away.
Fair is each twinkling ray;
But at the earliest light
Of morning they vanish away—
But with the sun's dawning beam
Like ghosts they vanish away.
Sweet-voiced are the bards of our tongue,
And melody floats in each lay;
But, gazing on poetry's sun,
Their memory fadeth away—
Their fame and their memory fadeth
As the stars at the dawning of day.
And melody floats in each lay;
But, gazing on poetry's sun,
Their memory fadeth away—
Their fame and their memory fadeth
As the stars at the dawning of day.
1879.
MER-EN-MUT
“What a delicate odor of spice!” I said
And I looked where the cloths they had just unwrapped
Left bare the blackened form of the dead
—Three thousand years since her life had speed!
And I looked where the cloths they had just unwrapped
Left bare the blackened form of the dead
—Three thousand years since her life had speed!
Faint as the dying notes of a lute
When the fingers have ceased to touch the strings!
What had sound or scent to do with that mute
Dry dust—the life-tree's Dead-Sea fruit!
When the fingers have ceased to touch the strings!
What had sound or scent to do with that mute
Dry dust—the life-tree's Dead-Sea fruit!
73
It came like the subtile half-unguessed
Mixture of unknown memories
That thrill our minds with a vague unrest
At the thought of some long-lost dear heart's guest.
Mixture of unknown memories
That thrill our minds with a vague unrest
At the thought of some long-lost dear heart's guest.
And across my soul came the dream of the scent
Of violets there in my escritoire
—Violets she gave me once while I bent
My face o'er her fingers, quite content.
Of violets there in my escritoire
—Violets she gave me once while I bent
My face o'er her fingers, quite content.
And the dream-scent seemed in a strange dim way
Like the dead sweet scent of a mummied love.
Will it rise again at the Last Great Day
With the princess here? Shall the wise dare say!
Like the dead sweet scent of a mummied love.
Will it rise again at the Last Great Day
With the princess here? Shall the wise dare say!
1887.
THE LADY OF THE CAPE
Beauty in earth and sky and air!
In this thistle-down by the wind's breath whirled
Even as in night's remotest world!
Beauty, beauty everywhere!
In this thistle-down by the wind's breath whirled
Even as in night's remotest world!
Beauty, beauty everywhere!
Beauty in yonder rugged rocks,
And beauty in the weary sea,
And beauty in the burly bee
That hums among the hollyhocks.
And beauty in the weary sea,
And beauty in the burly bee
That hums among the hollyhocks.
74
Stern beauty in the kingly storm,
And queenly beauty in the calm!
And beauty in my sweet sea-psalm,
And beauty in thy foam-born form!
And queenly beauty in the calm!
And beauty in my sweet sea-psalm,
And beauty in thy foam-born form!
The violet sunlight on the shoal!
The dark blue where the cloud-shadows fall!
And oh, a beauty over all—
The solemn beauty of thy soul!
The dark blue where the cloud-shadows fall!
And oh, a beauty over all—
The solemn beauty of thy soul!
TWO POETS
Love's way with the thrush;
In the heart of the larches,
The deepening defiles
Where the shadows dilate,
The dim and the hush
Of dawn in the arches
Of the dark forest aisles,
Alone with his mate!
The song would die
If the crowd were by.
It is only for one love's dewdrop is glistening;
It would frighten him voiceless to find the world listening.
Sing on, glad thrush,
From your nest in the heart of the bush!
Tho' it's only the song-smoke of love upcurled
As incense to your little brown mate,
And the world hears not, and you heed not the world,
And sing but your little heartful of love,
And know not and praise not the great kind God above—
All the same you praise him,
For love and joy are his praise—
Be elate, be elate!
God hears you and knows you are happy.
In the heart of the larches,
The deepening defiles
Where the shadows dilate,
The dim and the hush
Of dawn in the arches
Of the dark forest aisles,
Alone with his mate!
The song would die
If the crowd were by.
It is only for one love's dewdrop is glistening;
It would frighten him voiceless to find the world listening.
Sing on, glad thrush,
From your nest in the heart of the bush!
75
As incense to your little brown mate,
And the world hears not, and you heed not the world,
And sing but your little heartful of love,
And know not and praise not the great kind God above—
All the same you praise him,
For love and joy are his praise—
Be elate, be elate!
God hears you and knows you are happy.
Love's way with the sea-mew;
From the rocks and the beaches,
In the spume and the spray.
O wild one, the true
Sea-poet I deem you.
The vast wind-reaches
Are a trodden way
Through the storm for you.
Do you love, I wonder,
Aught but the surge and the thunder,
The gigantic delight of the clouds and the white-maned waves
And the wind that bellows and maddens and raves,
With its passionate heart-burning,
Its mighty, insatiable yearning
For the joy it will never possess, but unceasingly craves?
Sweep along!
Song is not yours, but this free sea life is a song.
There's a wild sea mate somewhere in the cliffs—
But oh, the joy and the love of the sea!
The booming reefs and the shuddering skiffs!
Love is well; but here, O sea-lover, where your bliss is,
Can you not almost feel God's kisses?
(If you but knew, O sea-bird,
The kisses are his indeed.)
Flash on, flash on and exult! There's a true hymn hid in your glee!
Never puzzle your pate with the mystery.
God sees you fulfilling His dreaming.
From the rocks and the beaches,
In the spume and the spray.
O wild one, the true
Sea-poet I deem you.
The vast wind-reaches
Are a trodden way
Through the storm for you.
Do you love, I wonder,
Aught but the surge and the thunder,
The gigantic delight of the clouds and the white-maned waves
And the wind that bellows and maddens and raves,
With its passionate heart-burning,
Its mighty, insatiable yearning
For the joy it will never possess, but unceasingly craves?
76
Song is not yours, but this free sea life is a song.
There's a wild sea mate somewhere in the cliffs—
But oh, the joy and the love of the sea!
The booming reefs and the shuddering skiffs!
Love is well; but here, O sea-lover, where your bliss is,
Can you not almost feel God's kisses?
(If you but knew, O sea-bird,
The kisses are his indeed.)
Flash on, flash on and exult! There's a true hymn hid in your glee!
Never puzzle your pate with the mystery.
God sees you fulfilling His dreaming.
O sea-mew! wise indeed
Is the life you lead.
It is well no sea-dreams intrude
On the brown bird's joy of the wood.
O poets! you never were caught
In the snare of choosing
Which well to quench thirst from, when each holds cool, sweet drink.
You each voice a thought
Out of the infinite musing
Of the great, kind God; and that, I should think,
Were enough for a thrush or a sea-mew.
New Brunswick, Canada, 1888.
Is the life you lead.
It is well no sea-dreams intrude
On the brown bird's joy of the wood.
O poets! you never were caught
In the snare of choosing
Which well to quench thirst from, when each holds cool, sweet drink.
You each voice a thought
Out of the infinite musing
Of the great, kind God; and that, I should think,
Were enough for a thrush or a sea-mew.
77
A SONG OF REBELLION
Beware!
Ye who sit in high places!
Have a care what the morrow brings!
The kings are fallen on their faces
And ye are viler than kings.
There's a death's head at your feasts.
Your old saws are something dreary,
And the world is wellnigh weary
Of the prosing of your priests.
There's a muttering in the air.
Beware!
Ye who sit in high places!
Have a care what the morrow brings!
The kings are fallen on their faces
And ye are viler than kings.
There's a death's head at your feasts.
Your old saws are something dreary,
And the world is wellnigh weary
Of the prosing of your priests.
There's a muttering in the air.
Beware!
The chains of your slaves are stronger
Than the chains of the slaves of old.
You bind with iron no longer
But the subtler strength of gold.
Hark! hear ye not through the night
A cry like the trumpet's clangor,
The cry of the wronged in their anger,
Of the strong man in his might?
Have ye heard and not understood?—
The knife is athirst for blood.
Than the chains of the slaves of old.
You bind with iron no longer
But the subtler strength of gold.
Hark! hear ye not through the night
A cry like the trumpet's clangor,
The cry of the wronged in their anger,
Of the strong man in his might?
Have ye heard and not understood?—
The knife is athirst for blood.
And you—will you dare revile them,
If they use the torch and the knife?
You, who have striven to beguile them
Of the beauty and joy of life!
You have made their days an ill dream
And the sweets of their childhood bitter,
While your lemans were brave with a glitter
Of gems and a golden gleam!
O the dainty joints you have carved,
While the babes of your workmen starved!
If they use the torch and the knife?
You, who have striven to beguile them
Of the beauty and joy of life!
78
And the sweets of their childhood bitter,
While your lemans were brave with a glitter
Of gems and a golden gleam!
O the dainty joints you have carved,
While the babes of your workmen starved!
Ye are snug and sedate in your churches
But your hearts have not known the Christ.
Your purity is offered for purchase,
And your honour is a thing that is priced.
But the wealth of your winning shall fare
At the last as wind-swept stubble.
Ye have cast away life for a bubble
That bursts at a breath of air.
Ye have bartered the things that endure,
O fools, for a lie and a lure.
But your hearts have not known the Christ.
Your purity is offered for purchase,
And your honour is a thing that is priced.
But the wealth of your winning shall fare
At the last as wind-swept stubble.
Ye have cast away life for a bubble
That bursts at a breath of air.
Ye have bartered the things that endure,
O fools, for a lie and a lure.
Ye marry and are given in marriage
For a pitiful gift of gold
Or a coat of arms on your carriage,
As if love were a tale that is told.
Ay, the daughter is sold for pelf
And the lie on her lips does not falter,
And the pander is a priest at the altar
And the bawd is the mother herself.
Let the Law and the Church approve!
But the wife is no wife without love.
For a pitiful gift of gold
Or a coat of arms on your carriage,
As if love were a tale that is told.
Ay, the daughter is sold for pelf
And the lie on her lips does not falter,
And the pander is a priest at the altar
And the bawd is the mother herself.
Let the Law and the Church approve!
But the wife is no wife without love.
79
You send your priests to our alleys
To tell us that meekness wins,
And reprove us for envy and malice
And exhort us to turn from our sins.
Was it by meekness you won?
Upon whom will you dare pass sentence?
We have sinned. Who has not? Will repentance
Undo one deed that is done?
Shall we kneel in a lazy despair,
And wail at the skies in vain prayer?
To tell us that meekness wins,
And reprove us for envy and malice
And exhort us to turn from our sins.
Was it by meekness you won?
Upon whom will you dare pass sentence?
We have sinned. Who has not? Will repentance
Undo one deed that is done?
Shall we kneel in a lazy despair,
And wail at the skies in vain prayer?
We have stifled our anger and stirred not,
And ye smote us with a heavier rod;
We have called upon God and He heard not,
And ye were more heedless than God.
It is time for the turn of the tide.
Oh, masters, are ye merciless blindly?
The barons of old were more kindly—
Would God we had let them abide!
It is time for the tide to turn.
Beware, lest your patience burn!
And ye smote us with a heavier rod;
We have called upon God and He heard not,
And ye were more heedless than God.
It is time for the turn of the tide.
Oh, masters, are ye merciless blindly?
The barons of old were more kindly—
Would God we had let them abide!
It is time for the tide to turn.
Beware, lest your patience burn!
War! War!
The world has groaned long enough
With its weariness and its pain.
Behold, are we not strong enough
To arise and shatter the chain?
Forward into the fight!
Cut a way through the ranks of error!
On—in the teeth of terror!
On—through the dark to the light!
Behind the storm is the star!
War! War!
The world has groaned long enough
With its weariness and its pain.
Behold, are we not strong enough
To arise and shatter the chain?
Forward into the fight!
80
On—in the teeth of terror!
On—through the dark to the light!
Behind the storm is the star!
War! War!
1889.
A PATRICIAN POET
I have lived too long. The new age is come with its sin and its shame,
Names with the guerdon of truth and truth becomes but a name.
Kings discrowned by the rabble and altars defiled by the schools,
And the glory of ancient wisdom a mock for the tongues of fools—
Names with the guerdon of truth and truth becomes but a name.
Kings discrowned by the rabble and altars defiled by the schools,
And the glory of ancient wisdom a mock for the tongues of fools—
Canaille scoffing at Honor, Chivalry, Loyalty, Faith,—
They call the Ideal a phantom, and each thought of their hearts is a wraith;
Speak with a smile of dreams and dream that the world is free,
Deny the Gospel and seek a Christ in the Rule of Three.
They call the Ideal a phantom, and each thought of their hearts is a wraith;
Speak with a smile of dreams and dream that the world is free,
Deny the Gospel and seek a Christ in the Rule of Three.
81
Oh, he's a wise, broad thinker, your man of the period;
Just hear him scoff at the creeds—he has even his doubts about God;
Pshaw, there is nothing real but railways and machines;
Poetry? Loyalty? Faith? Weak props for a tower that leans!
Just hear him scoff at the creeds—he has even his doubts about God;
Pshaw, there is nothing real but railways and machines;
Poetry? Loyalty? Faith? Weak props for a tower that leans!
No need of props to support the new marvelous column he rears
Built on the shifting sands, he thinks 'twill outlast the years.
Oh, how he hates intolerance!—see his eye flash at the word;
Wouldn't he make the intolerant howl, if he bore the sword!
Built on the shifting sands, he thinks 'twill outlast the years.
Oh, how he hates intolerance!—see his eye flash at the word;
Wouldn't he make the intolerant howl, if he bore the sword!
Bah, your liberal's ever worst bigot, your broad man the narrowest ass,
Your Free Thought the true captive beating 'gainst barriers it never can pass.
Call me slave of old thoughts and old systems, sunk deep in the Old World mire!
So the world thinks, that thinks you the freeman—but the world is a pitiful liar.
Your Free Thought the true captive beating 'gainst barriers it never can pass.
Call me slave of old thoughts and old systems, sunk deep in the Old World mire!
So the world thinks, that thinks you the freeman—but the world is a pitiful liar.
82
That's where the evil begins—in the theories that beguile
The idle hour at the club, where the skeptical simper and smile,
Arraying the stark unbelief in the finery of culture and Art.
Fudge! the gentles but play at Free Thought, it's the mob that take it to heart.
The idle hour at the club, where the skeptical simper and smile,
Arraying the stark unbelief in the finery of culture and Art.
Fudge! the gentles but play at Free Thought, it's the mob that take it to heart.
Be sure, where a gentleman soils his patent-leathers, it's luck
If the clown that follows him doesn't plunge heels over head in the muck.
Atheism in the palace smiles in its silken coat,
But atheism in the hovel curses and cuts your throat.
If the clown that follows him doesn't plunge heels over head in the muck.
Atheism in the palace smiles in its silken coat,
But atheism in the hovel curses and cuts your throat.
Sneer at the ancients, fools,—but you'll never be half as great.
Oh, never a visionary of the ages you laugh at and hate,
Was half so deluded a dunce as your rattlepate modern fanatics,—
Do you think the millennium will come when your stable boys study quadratics?
Oh, never a visionary of the ages you laugh at and hate,
Was half so deluded a dunce as your rattlepate modern fanatics,—
Do you think the millennium will come when your stable boys study quadratics?
83
Educate, educate, educate! 'Tis the catchword of the age.
One would fancy you thought even anarchy might grow quiet and sage,—
A little toy Heaven—if learned; or deemed, if the truth you would speak,
Democracies just, as soon as the democrats all know Greek.
One would fancy you thought even anarchy might grow quiet and sage,—
A little toy Heaven—if learned; or deemed, if the truth you would speak,
Democracies just, as soon as the democrats all know Greek.
Teach them and then they will rise, you say. Call it so; but to what?
From the lowly unlettered content of the old-fashloned laborer's lot
To the whirl and the bustle and greed of the life of the shop and the street—
To the filth of political intrigue, the statecraft of trickster and cheat—
From the lowly unlettered content of the old-fashloned laborer's lot
To the whirl and the bustle and greed of the life of the shop and the street—
To the filth of political intrigue, the statecraft of trickster and cheat—
To the knowledge of murderous means that are safer than pistol and knife—
To the discord that springs from a false note struck in the music of life.
They who lay moored in the calm, by new blasts to the tempest are wrenched.
What use knowing logarithms, if the light of the stars be quenched?
To the discord that springs from a false note struck in the music of life.
They who lay moored in the calm, by new blasts to the tempest are wrenched.
What use knowing logarithms, if the light of the stars be quenched?
84
What can you teach, after all? Mere scraps from the Public School,
To craze with conceit of wisdom the empty pate of a fool.
Teach them the A B C of the learning the ages have stored,—
Straightway they deem themselves able to govern as well as my lord.
To craze with conceit of wisdom the empty pate of a fool.
Teach them the A B C of the learning the ages have stored,—
Straightway they deem themselves able to govern as well as my lord.
Even God's providence useless—a child's help—they need it no more,
Just because they have mastered the nursery-rhymes of lore.
Public School, forsooth! Panacea for all world's wo!
Kingdom come when the schoolhouse equals the high and the low!
Just because they have mastered the nursery-rhymes of lore.
Public School, forsooth! Panacea for all world's wo!
Kingdom come when the schoolhouse equals the high and the low!
Mix them together, the children, so caste dies, democracy lives;
But what will you breed but mongrels, cross between gentles and thieves?
Crowd Lower and Higher together in a mad democratic uproar,—
The Lower will pull down the Higher, not the Higher ennoble the Lower,
But what will you breed but mongrels, cross between gentles and thieves?
Crowd Lower and Higher together in a mad democratic uproar,—
The Lower will pull down the Higher, not the Higher ennoble the Lower,
85
And into the pure white souls of your high-born children shall thrust,
To creep and coil and commingle, the loathsome serpents of lust—
Ay, lust of nameless and shameless kinds—O brothers! O men!
Will ye pull down God's wrath on New Sodom? Will ye build up a New Babel again?
To creep and coil and commingle, the loathsome serpents of lust—
Ay, lust of nameless and shameless kinds—O brothers! O men!
Will ye pull down God's wrath on New Sodom? Will ye build up a New Babel again?
Oh, many an untaught peasant, far from the school and the mart,
Wise in his simple way with the silly lore of the heart,
Is far higher and nobler and better and wiser—worth more for life's work,
Than your gutter-sprung smatter-taught bullies that misrule and plunder New York.
Wise in his simple way with the silly lore of the heart,
Is far higher and nobler and better and wiser—worth more for life's work,
Than your gutter-sprung smatter-taught bullies that misrule and plunder New York.
Behind the times? It's an easy cry. Be it so, if you will;
Better behind the times, if the times are going down hill.
Did you live in the days of Nero, had you cared to keep up with the times?
Not I, tho Nero himself had sneered at my retrograde rhymes.
Better behind the times, if the times are going down hill.
Did you live in the days of Nero, had you cared to keep up with the times?
Not I, tho Nero himself had sneered at my retrograde rhymes.
86
The world will awake some day; I know it, for God is great.
For some good, though I guess it dimly, His people suffer and wait.
It will all come right in the end;—God forbid that I doubt!—but I—
I am old; I shall never see it. It is time for me to die.
For some good, though I guess it dimly, His people suffer and wait.
It will all come right in the end;—God forbid that I doubt!—but I—
I am old; I shall never see it. It is time for me to die.
Washington, D. C.
HYMN FOR THE HOLY DAY OF ST. CATHERINE OF ALEXANDRIA
Queen upon earth! Ah, more, our queen in heaven!
What may men bring for gifts before thy throne?
What praise for thee, to whom God's praise is given?
O ruler of ten cities! what wrought zone
Of gold of earthly poesy, starred round
With flaming rubicels of love that yearns,
Is meet for thee whom God girds as a queen
With glory of archangels and the sound
Of sacred trumpets and the light that burns
On all the altars of thy wide demesne?
Shed thou thy grace on us
Whom the four angels
Bare through the air
To the marvellous tomb!
Turn thy fair face on us!
Teach us evangels
Newer and truer!
Lighten the gloom,
That our eyes may see clear!
Though the darkness be drear!
O Queen and Teacher, we besech thee, hear!
What may men bring for gifts before thy throne?
What praise for thee, to whom God's praise is given?
O ruler of ten cities! what wrought zone
Of gold of earthly poesy, starred round
With flaming rubicels of love that yearns,
Is meet for thee whom God girds as a queen
With glory of archangels and the sound
Of sacred trumpets and the light that burns
On all the altars of thy wide demesne?
Shed thou thy grace on us
Whom the four angels
Bare through the air
To the marvellous tomb!
87
Teach us evangels
Newer and truer!
Lighten the gloom,
That our eyes may see clear!
Though the darkness be drear!
O Queen and Teacher, we besech thee, hear!
O thou wise Lady, whose illumined eyes
Beheld not only Moses on the Mount,
Saw not alone before thy vision rise
The royal sage whose wisdom learned to count
All world's-ways vanity that led him not
To Him who holds all worlds within His palm,
Nor the great Twain on whom Death worked no wrong!
Thou hast trodden the Stagirite's straight ways of thought
And walked with Plato on the heights of calm
And learned the strange lore of the Sibyl's song.
Each was God's voice with thee—
Hebrew or Hellen—
Light for thy sight
To discover thy Lord.
Now they rejoice with thee,
Chosen to dwell in
Aidenn, a maiden
Crowned and adored.
And we too would draw near
To salute and revere
O wise and radiant and benign one, hear!
Beheld not only Moses on the Mount,
Saw not alone before thy vision rise
The royal sage whose wisdom learned to count
All world's-ways vanity that led him not
To Him who holds all worlds within His palm,
Nor the great Twain on whom Death worked no wrong!
Thou hast trodden the Stagirite's straight ways of thought
And walked with Plato on the heights of calm
And learned the strange lore of the Sibyl's song.
Each was God's voice with thee—
Hebrew or Hellen—
Light for thy sight
To discover thy Lord.
Now they rejoice with thee,
Chosen to dwell in
Aidenn, a maiden
Crowned and adored.
88
To salute and revere
O wise and radiant and benign one, hear!
Not only unto thee that prince of yore,
Whose psalms still girdle earth with chains of praise,
Nor he who sang the song of him who bore
God's utmost patiently, unlocked their lays;
Nor even God's poet-mother held alone
High discourse with thee. Homer also spread
On thy soul's sea the singing of his sails.
Thou hast heard devout Euripides' sweet moan
And Pindar trumpeting with uplifted head
And Sappho thrilling with the nightingales—
Sunless but glorious
Beacons unnumbered,
Bright in the night
With God's luminous breath,
Star-souls victorious
Though the dawn slumbered,
Bringing with singing
Forewords God saith.
All a-stagger we tread
In the ways where they led.
Strengthen our steps, O victress garlanded!
Whose psalms still girdle earth with chains of praise,
Nor he who sang the song of him who bore
God's utmost patiently, unlocked their lays;
Nor even God's poet-mother held alone
High discourse with thee. Homer also spread
On thy soul's sea the singing of his sails.
Thou hast heard devout Euripides' sweet moan
And Pindar trumpeting with uplifted head
And Sappho thrilling with the nightingales—
Sunless but glorious
Beacons unnumbered,
Bright in the night
With God's luminous breath,
Star-souls victorious
Though the dawn slumbered,
Bringing with singing
Forewords God saith.
All a-stagger we tread
In the ways where they led.
Strengthen our steps, O victress garlanded!
89
Now night and twilight for thine eyes are ended
In the diviner noonday of the place
When God's white sunlight makes the city splendid
With glory from the shining of His face;
Yet are the stars not lightless in that flood
Of radiance, brightening forth with steadier glow,
Their angel forms the clearlier outlined there—
The Powers and Principalities that stood
Undaunted when Heaven warred with the great Foe,
And the clear-sighted ones who made earth fair.
Thou, whom they reverence
(Thrones and dominions),
Save from the grave
Of unknowledge and night!
Face us forever hence
Dawnward, whose pinions
Weary in dreary
Doubt of the light!
Be a lamp in our way,
That our feet may not stray!
Sainted and sweet, have rue on us, we pray!
In the diviner noonday of the place
When God's white sunlight makes the city splendid
With glory from the shining of His face;
Yet are the stars not lightless in that flood
Of radiance, brightening forth with steadier glow,
Their angel forms the clearlier outlined there—
The Powers and Principalities that stood
Undaunted when Heaven warred with the great Foe,
And the clear-sighted ones who made earth fair.
Thou, whom they reverence
(Thrones and dominions),
Save from the grave
Of unknowledge and night!
Face us forever hence
Dawnward, whose pinions
Weary in dreary
Doubt of the light!
Be a lamp in our way,
That our feet may not stray!
Sainted and sweet, have rue on us, we pray!
O thou who sittest ever at her feet
Whom God wrought of all creatures holiest
That she might be as spotless raiment meet
To clothe the Eternal Word with! Fair sky's-guest,
With whom the high arch-regents of the spheres
Hold interchange of sweet Olympian words—
Apollo and lute-hearted Israfel
And clear-limbed Artemis, splendid with her spears,
Uranian Aphrodite and her birds,
Serene Athene, sword-eyed Uriel!
Thou who didst seek on high
Love such as breast shall
Pour nevermore
For a mortal man's mirth!
Thou who from beacon eye,
Flaming, celestial,
Lightest our brightest
Torches of earth!
O refulgent and fair,
With the stars in thy hair!
Holy and blessed, hearken to our prayer!
Whom God wrought of all creatures holiest
That she might be as spotless raiment meet
To clothe the Eternal Word with! Fair sky's-guest,
90
Hold interchange of sweet Olympian words—
Apollo and lute-hearted Israfel
And clear-limbed Artemis, splendid with her spears,
Uranian Aphrodite and her birds,
Serene Athene, sword-eyed Uriel!
Thou who didst seek on high
Love such as breast shall
Pour nevermore
For a mortal man's mirth!
Thou who from beacon eye,
Flaming, celestial,
Lightest our brightest
Torches of earth!
O refulgent and fair,
With the stars in thy hair!
Holy and blessed, hearken to our prayer!
Grant us thine aid that, as our footsteps wander
Down the long years, still searching for the Sign,
With no love-ruining pride our weak thoughts ponder
The deep sweet undertones of the Thought divine,
The mystery of the grasses of the field,
And the green crown of sunset in the west,
And the wind's ways that no man's feet have trod,
Till each new glory to the mind revealed
Kindle new love beneath the yearning breast
And the head's wisdom lead the heart to God—
Till, in Heaven's unity,
Loving and learning
Meet and, complete,
Are as one word, not twain,
Weak importunity
Yields to soul's spurning
And, risen from prison,
Love shakes off Time's chain.
O royal and wise!
Dædal-throned in the skies!
O crowned of God! O rose of Paradise!
Down the long years, still searching for the Sign,
With no love-ruining pride our weak thoughts ponder
The deep sweet undertones of the Thought divine,
The mystery of the grasses of the field,
And the green crown of sunset in the west,
And the wind's ways that no man's feet have trod,
91
Kindle new love beneath the yearning breast
And the head's wisdom lead the heart to God—
Till, in Heaven's unity,
Loving and learning
Meet and, complete,
Are as one word, not twain,
Weak importunity
Yields to soul's spurning
And, risen from prison,
Love shakes off Time's chain.
O royal and wise!
Dædal-throned in the skies!
O crowned of God! O rose of Paradise!
November, 1887
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