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45

LUX MUNDI

‘L'amour est la forme la plus divine de l'infini; et en même temps, sans doute parce qu'elle est la plus divine, la plus profondément humaine.’—Mæterlinck.

I

This is the one and only thing
For which we live and toil and die,—
That two bright flames should upward spring,
And mingle as they soar on high.

II

This is the first, the last, the whole,
The source of life, the way, the end,—
That soul should wed itself to soul,
And, flame through flame, to Heaven ascend.

III

Oh! when thy throbbing heart is pressed
Close against mine, my love! my own!
Life's mystic meaning stands confessed,
Life's inmost truth is named and known.
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IV

And in love's rapture I forecast
How swiftly, without pain or strife,
The weary world will break at last
The fetters of its outward life,—

V

And be the source from which it came,
The goal to which it wings its flight,
Be what it is—a quivering flame,
A pulsing wave of love and light.

VI

Does not the Lord of Night and Day,
Who makes the Universe his throne,
Forever send himself away
Far into exile, lost and lone;

VII

That from his sorrow love may spring,—
Love rushing into love's embrace—
And lift Creation on its wing,
And light with life the voids of Space;

VIII

That in and through the twofold love
That draws the wanderer to his rest,
The whole wide world may live and move
And all its pain and toil be blest;—
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IX

That in and through the vast desire
Of God for God's self-exiled soul,
The stars may light their quenchless fire,
And Time sweep onward to its goal.

X

Oh then, when heart and heart are one,
When I am thine, when I am thou,
For thee and me the days are done
That crown with thorns God's bleeding brow.

XI

The dream of Nature is fulfilled;
The soul of Nature is set free;
The circle that God's love hath willed
Ends in its own eternity.

XII

Nay more,—our love means more than this;
For when our mutual passion burns,
God feels the rapture of our bliss
And, exiled, to his home returns.

XIII

God needs our love. The weakest heart
Roused by his trumpet-call, may make
His cause its own, and play his part
And be a hero for his sake.
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XIV

My best! My own! My heart's one bride!
When thy dear bosom beats on mine,
I feel the pulse of life's great tide,
The passion-pulse of life divine.

XV

I learn that love is all in all,
That all things else are dreams and shades,—
Snowflakes that vanish ere they fall,
Flowers that are gone ere summer fades.

XVI

There is no room for aught but love,—
None in the years that come and go,
None in the heights of Heaven above,
None in the depths of Hell below.

XVII

Nature is ransomed by our bliss:
God in our hearts fulfils his plan;
For this, our love's impassioned kiss,
Was purposed when the years began.
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