 | Ballads and Sonnets |  |
161
SONNETS TO A PICTURE.
“Man with the Muck-rake.”—Sir Noel Paton.
I.
[He kneels, his knee drawn down to kindred dust]
He kneels, his knee drawn down to kindred dust,For all is earth within him, from those eyes
Wherein a noble nature fallen lies,
To the lean hands that clutch, as clutch they must,
The muck-rake of this world, for unto him
His heaven is on a level with his soul,
That, blind, can see no higher, purer goal
Than in the gold that glitters but to dim.
Jewels that tarnish, honours that take wing
A moment after, luring shapes that sink
To leave the grinning skull whose sockets blink
Derision sharper than the viper's sting,
And Vanity, by hollow whispers nursed,
Blowing her bubbles, which ere caught have burst.
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II.
[Above him, yet he sees him not, there bends]
Above him, yet he sees him not, there bendsCompassion and Divinity in one,
The Christ of time, earth, heaven and the sun,
Of the soul's soul, and all that upward tends.
In His right hand he holds a crown of thorns,
Sorrow's own symbol, and the other lies
Almost upon him, while behind him mourns
His better angel with entreating eyes.
Thou toiler after things that will not live!
Look but once upward, that thy soul may see
The sadden'd splendour of that glorious face,
Then lift thyself against that hand, and give
Thy better angel one sweet tear to place
Within the very sight of God from thee.
III.
[Thou gazest and the picture fades away]
Thou gazest and the picture fades awayLike visions after sleep. But unto thee
One thing remaineth which thou still canst see,
Like midnight meteors when they flash astray.
It is the woven crown of thorns, and lo,
Behind it, on thy dim and awe-struck sight
There rises up a cross of pale sad light
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Reaches thy inmost soul that, kneeling down
Beneath a sorrow which all speech but mars,
Sees, as a glory rises in the night,
Through the rough circlet of the thorny crown
Another issue forth that to the sight
Becomes a blinding splendour thick with stars.
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