 | Poems |  |
26
THE SAGE—THE POET—THE SAINT.
They stand with their hands outstretched in love of a far-off shore—
The glow of evening around them, and a burning light before—
They gaze where the sun is setting, and the Ocean waves are rolled,
And their hearts are fain to follow that pathway of reddening gold.
The glow of evening around them, and a burning light before—
They gaze where the sun is setting, and the Ocean waves are rolled,
And their hearts are fain to follow that pathway of reddening gold.
They stand and gaze till their faces have caught the reflected glow,
And a mystic brightness is shed o'er the things of the earth below,
When they look away from the Heaven; and they cannot see aright,
For it may be their eyes are dazzled by the flood of immortal light.
And a mystic brightness is shed o'er the things of the earth below,
When they look away from the Heaven; and they cannot see aright,
For it may be their eyes are dazzled by the flood of immortal light.
27
In their hearts there is utter yearning—a thirst that is never slaked,—
A love that can have no dying—no creature of Death awaked.
And these have the grace to tread where none but their feet have trod;
And could they but see their goal, they would know that their goal is God.
A love that can have no dying—no creature of Death awaked.
And these have the grace to tread where none but their feet have trod;
And could they but see their goal, they would know that their goal is God.
One end to their endless longing—one aim amid all their strife,
But the end is itself the way, and the aim is the whole of life:
The Sage—the Poet—the Saint—we have given to each his name—
But if they have all one goal, then all are at last the same.
But the end is itself the way, and the aim is the whole of life:
The Sage—the Poet—the Saint—we have given to each his name—
But if they have all one goal, then all are at last the same.
For we speak and we needs must speak of mind and heart and soul,
But Spirit is ever One and an undivided whole:
We look but a little way—the part can see but a part—
And only Thyself—oh God! can'st see Thyself as Thou art.
But Spirit is ever One and an undivided whole:
We look but a little way—the part can see but a part—
And only Thyself—oh God! can'st see Thyself as Thou art.
28
The Sage—Ah! we know a little of our little things below,—
But his is the restless striving of the mind, that knows, to know:
He asks what is? and in asking his hands have broken the bond
Of what seems—and he presses on to the one I AM beyond.
But his is the restless striving of the mind, that knows, to know:
He asks what is? and in asking his hands have broken the bond
Of what seems—and he presses on to the one I AM beyond.
His God is the God of Truth, Eternal and far and dim,
And he knows not that in his striving God has come near to him;
He calls us, but who may follow—for whose are the eyes to view
The blinding beams of the sun in his heaven of endless blue?
And he knows not that in his striving God has come near to him;
He calls us, but who may follow—for whose are the eyes to view
The blinding beams of the sun in his heaven of endless blue?
The Poet—his eyes are burning—his heart is a heart of fire:
His hands have fashioned the world by the light of his own desire:
He will not tarry for knowledge—too quickly the moments flee,—
And his is the passionate longing of the heart, that sees, to see.
His hands have fashioned the world by the light of his own desire:
He will not tarry for knowledge—too quickly the moments flee,—
And his is the passionate longing of the heart, that sees, to see.
29
His God is the God of Beauty—so near, could he only find,—
He sees where no others see, yet even his eyes are blind:
We praise him, and start to follow, but the light of the heart has fled,
And vainly we look around us, for the world lies dark and dead.
He sees where no others see, yet even his eyes are blind:
We praise him, and start to follow, but the light of the heart has fled,
And vainly we look around us, for the world lies dark and dead.
But the Saint—his eyes are ever upturned to the blue above,
And his is the endless yearning of the soul, that loves, to love:
He looks at the clear deep Heaven, whose cloudless depths may tell
Of the pure and selfless Spirit where God loves best to dwell.
And his is the endless yearning of the soul, that loves, to love:
He looks at the clear deep Heaven, whose cloudless depths may tell
Of the pure and selfless Spirit where God loves best to dwell.
His God is the God of Love—so far, yet so deep within,—
Whom a life of longing and loving and losing self may win:
He leads us, and all would follow—but we linger from day to day,
And think there is time for starting, and so life glides away.
Whom a life of longing and loving and losing self may win:
He leads us, and all would follow—but we linger from day to day,
And think there is time for starting, and so life glides away.
| Poems | |