 | Poems by Sarah Helen Whitman |  |
125
EVENING.
“And, it shall come to pass, that at evening time it shall be light.”
Zechariah xiv. 7.
Zechariah xiv. 7.
“All the dawn promised shall the day fulfill,
The glory and the grandeur of each dream;
And every prophecy shall be achieved,
And every joy conceded, prove a pledge
Of some new joy to come.”
Robert Browning.
The glory and the grandeur of each dream;
And every prophecy shall be achieved,
And every joy conceded, prove a pledge
Of some new joy to come.”
Robert Browning.
Wilder and lonelier grew the day:
The vault of heaven once so high,—
Fading to infinity,—
Now bowed by its own weight of gloom,
Seemed dark and low-browed as a tomb.
Cold, sculptured hills, forlorn and gray,
Like sun-forsaken Memnons, lay
Around my drear and pathless way.
The thunder rolled; and loud and shrill
The storm-blast shrieked from hill to hill.
The vault of heaven once so high,—
Fading to infinity,—
Now bowed by its own weight of gloom,
Seemed dark and low-browed as a tomb.
Cold, sculptured hills, forlorn and gray,
Like sun-forsaken Memnons, lay
Around my drear and pathless way.
The thunder rolled; and loud and shrill
The storm-blast shrieked from hill to hill.
Beside the lamp within the veil
Of the soul's temple burning pale,
I sought, in self-renouncing prayer,
Truth's guarded secrets to forbear,
Till lowly trust the right should earn
Life's golden meanings to discern.
I sought in ministries of love
The purchase of the Cross to prove,—
The mysteries of the Holy Rood
In sorrow's pale beatitude.
Content, through lowering clouds, to greet
The glory of the Paraclete;
I sought, within the inner shrine,
The Father-God of Palestine.
Of the soul's temple burning pale,
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Truth's guarded secrets to forbear,
Till lowly trust the right should earn
Life's golden meanings to discern.
I sought in ministries of love
The purchase of the Cross to prove,—
The mysteries of the Holy Rood
In sorrow's pale beatitude.
Content, through lowering clouds, to greet
The glory of the Paraclete;
I sought, within the inner shrine,
The Father-God of Palestine.
A holy light began to stream
Athwart the cloud-rifts, like a dream
Of Heaven; and lo! a pale, sweet face,
Of mournful grandeur and imperial grace,—
A face whose mystic sadness seemed to borrow
Immortal beauty from that mortal sorrow
Looked on me; and a voice of solemn cheer
Uttered its sweet evangels on my ear;
The open secrets of that eldest lore
That seems less to reveal than to restore.
Athwart the cloud-rifts, like a dream
Of Heaven; and lo! a pale, sweet face,
Of mournful grandeur and imperial grace,—
A face whose mystic sadness seemed to borrow
Immortal beauty from that mortal sorrow
Looked on me; and a voice of solemn cheer
Uttered its sweet evangels on my ear;
The open secrets of that eldest lore
That seems less to reveal than to restore.
“Pluck thou the Life-tree's golden fruit,
Nor seek to bare its sacred root:
Live, and in life's perennial faith
Renounce the heresy of death:
Believe, and every sweet accord
Of being, to thine ear restored,
Shall sound articulate and clear;
Perfected love shall banish fear,
Knowledge and wisdom shall approve
The divine synthesis of love.”
Nor seek to bare its sacred root:
Live, and in life's perennial faith
Renounce the heresy of death:
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Of being, to thine ear restored,
Shall sound articulate and clear;
Perfected love shall banish fear,
Knowledge and wisdom shall approve
The divine synthesis of love.”
“Royally the lilies grow
On the grassy leas,
Basking in the sun and dew,
Swinging in the breeze.
Doth the wild-fowl need a chart
Through the illimitable air?
Heaven lies folded in thy heart;
Seek the truth that slumbers there;
Thou art Truth's eternal heir.”
On the grassy leas,
Basking in the sun and dew,
Swinging in the breeze.
Doth the wild-fowl need a chart
Through the illimitable air?
Heaven lies folded in thy heart;
Seek the truth that slumbers there;
Thou art Truth's eternal heir.”
“Let the shadows come and go;
Let the stormy north wind blow:
Death's dark valley cannot bind thee
In its dread abode;
There the Morning Star shall find thee,
There the living God.
Sin and sorrow cannot hide thee,—
Death and hell cannot divide thee
From the love of God.”
In the mystic agony
On the Mount of Calvary,
The Saviour with his dying eyes
Beheld the groves of Paradise.
Let the stormy north wind blow:
Death's dark valley cannot bind thee
In its dread abode;
There the Morning Star shall find thee,
There the living God.
Sin and sorrow cannot hide thee,—
Death and hell cannot divide thee
From the love of God.”
128
On the Mount of Calvary,
The Saviour with his dying eyes
Beheld the groves of Paradise.
“Then weep not by the charnel stone,
Nor veil thine eyelids from the sun.
Upward, through the death-dark glides
The spirit on resurgent tides
Of light and glory on its way:
Wilt thou by the cerements stay?—
Thou the risen Christ shalt see
In redeemed Humanity.
Though mourners at the portal wept,
And angels lingered where it slept,
The soul but tarried for a night,
Then plumed its wings for loftier flight.”
Nor veil thine eyelids from the sun.
Upward, through the death-dark glides
The spirit on resurgent tides
Of light and glory on its way:
Wilt thou by the cerements stay?—
Thou the risen Christ shalt see
In redeemed Humanity.
Though mourners at the portal wept,
And angels lingered where it slept,
The soul but tarried for a night,
Then plumed its wings for loftier flight.”
“Is thy heart so lonely?—Lo,
Ready to share thy joy and woe,
Poor wanderers tarry at thy gate,
The way-worn and the desolate;
And angels at thy threshold wait:
Wouldst thou love's holiest guerdon win?
Arise, and let the stranger in.”
“The friend whom not thy fickle will,
But the deep heart within thee, still
Yearneth to fold to its embrace,
Shall seek thee through the realms of space.
Keep the image Nature sealed
On thy heart, by love annealed,
Keep thy faith serene and pure;
Her royal promises are sure,
Her sweet betrothals shall endure.”
Ready to share thy joy and woe,
Poor wanderers tarry at thy gate,
The way-worn and the desolate;
And angels at thy threshold wait:
Wouldst thou love's holiest guerdon win?
Arise, and let the stranger in.”
129
But the deep heart within thee, still
Yearneth to fold to its embrace,
Shall seek thee through the realms of space.
Keep the image Nature sealed
On thy heart, by love annealed,
Keep thy faith serene and pure;
Her royal promises are sure,
Her sweet betrothals shall endure.”
“Hope thou all things, and believe;
And, in child-like trust, achieve
The simplest mandates of the soul,
The simplest good, the nearest goal;
Move but the waters, and their pulse
The broad ocean shall convulse.”
And, in child-like trust, achieve
The simplest mandates of the soul,
The simplest good, the nearest goal;
Move but the waters, and their pulse
The broad ocean shall convulse.”
“When love shall reconcile the will
Love's mystic sorrow to fulfill,
Its fiery baptism to share,—
The burden of its cross to bear,—
Earth shall to equilibrium tend,
Ellipses shall to circles bend,
And life's long agony shall end.”
Love's mystic sorrow to fulfill,
Its fiery baptism to share,—
The burden of its cross to bear,—
Earth shall to equilibrium tend,
Ellipses shall to circles bend,
And life's long agony shall end.”
“Then pluck the Life-tree's golden fruit;
No blight can reach its sacred root.
E'en though every blossom fell
Into Hades, one by one,
Love is deeper far than Hades,—
Shadows cannot quench the sun.”
No blight can reach its sacred root.
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Into Hades, one by one,
Love is deeper far than Hades,—
Shadows cannot quench the sun.”
“Can the child-heart promise more
Than the Father hath in store?—
The blind shall see,—the dead shall live;
Can the man-child forfeit more
Than the Father can forgive?
The Dragon, from his empire driven,
No more shall find his place in Heaven,
Till e'en the Serpent power approve
The divine potency of love.”
Than the Father hath in store?—
The blind shall see,—the dead shall live;
Can the man-child forfeit more
Than the Father can forgive?
The Dragon, from his empire driven,
No more shall find his place in Heaven,
Till e'en the Serpent power approve
The divine potency of love.”
“Guard thy faith with holy care,—
Mystic virtues slumber there;
'T is the lamp within the soul
Holding genii in control:
Faith shall walk the stormy water,—
In the unequal strife prevail,—
Nor, when comes the dread avatar,
From its fiery splendors quail.
Faith shall triumph o'er the grave,
Love shall bless the life it gave.”
Mystic virtues slumber there;
'T is the lamp within the soul
Holding genii in control:
Faith shall walk the stormy water,—
In the unequal strife prevail,—
Nor, when comes the dread avatar,
From its fiery splendors quail.
Faith shall triumph o'er the grave,
Love shall bless the life it gave.”
I heard; and in my heart the incarnate Word
Uttered, serene and clear, its sweet accord,—
To Him that sitteth on the eternal throne,
All power and grace earth's discord to atone,—
To the great Soul that foldeth all in one,
Father in Heaven, I cried, thy will be done!
Uttered, serene and clear, its sweet accord,—
131
All power and grace earth's discord to atone,—
To the great Soul that foldeth all in one,
Father in Heaven, I cried, thy will be done!
Then faintly, with my heart's low music blending,
I heard a sound of silver wings descending:
The Holy Dove of Peace, the promised guest,
Folded its fragrant pinions on my breast.
I heard a sound of silver wings descending:
The Holy Dove of Peace, the promised guest,
Folded its fragrant pinions on my breast.
Life into lines of beauty flowed
Around me, flexuous and free;
The passive face of Nature showed
A sweet, responsive sympathy;
And dimly, through the Human, glowed
The lineaments of Deity.
Around me, flexuous and free;
The passive face of Nature showed
A sweet, responsive sympathy;
And dimly, through the Human, glowed
The lineaments of Deity.
I saw the frowning orbs of Fate
Into a regent calm dilate—
A sovran and superb disdain
Of earth's fast-fleeting joy and pain;
While patience budding into peace,
And knowledge ripening into power,
And thought with its pale alchemy,
Made beautiful the passing hour;
Till morn and noonlight seemed to fuse
Their glory with its fading hues,
As the fair outline of my day,
From dawn to twilight's golden gray,
Rose grandly on the prescient soul,
Crowned with the sunset's aureole.
Into a regent calm dilate—
A sovran and superb disdain
Of earth's fast-fleeting joy and pain;
While patience budding into peace,
And knowledge ripening into power,
And thought with its pale alchemy,
Made beautiful the passing hour;
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Their glory with its fading hues,
As the fair outline of my day,
From dawn to twilight's golden gray,
Rose grandly on the prescient soul,
Crowned with the sunset's aureole.
Far off, among the Norland hills,
The distant thunders rolled;
Soft rain-clouds dipped their fringes down
Across the evening gold.
Heaven's stormy dome was rent, and high
Above me shone the summer sky;
Ever more serene it grew,
Fading off into the blue,
Till the boundless hyaline
Seemed melting into depths divine,
And the angels came and went
Through the opening firmament.
In all the glooming hollows lay
A light more beautiful than day;
All the blossom bells waved slowly
In the evening's golden calm,
And the hum of distant voices
Sounded like a vesper psalm.
Till dimly seen, through day's departing bloom,
The far-off lamps of heaven began to fling
Their trembling beams athwart the dewy gloom,
As Evening, on the horizon's airy ring,
Winnowing the darkness with her silver wing,
Descended like an angel, calm and still.
The distant thunders rolled;
Soft rain-clouds dipped their fringes down
Across the evening gold.
Heaven's stormy dome was rent, and high
Above me shone the summer sky;
Ever more serene it grew,
Fading off into the blue,
Till the boundless hyaline
Seemed melting into depths divine,
And the angels came and went
Through the opening firmament.
In all the glooming hollows lay
A light more beautiful than day;
All the blossom bells waved slowly
In the evening's golden calm,
And the hum of distant voices
Sounded like a vesper psalm.
133
The far-off lamps of heaven began to fling
Their trembling beams athwart the dewy gloom,
As Evening, on the horizon's airy ring,
Winnowing the darkness with her silver wing,
Descended like an angel, calm and still.
| Poems by Sarah Helen Whitman | |