The collected poems of Arthur Edward Waite in two volumes ... With a Portrait |
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THE VOICE OF THE TURTLE |
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 | The collected poems of Arthur Edward Waite |  |
216
THE VOICE OF THE TURTLE
When valiant souls have climb'd the furthest heights,
And hear beyond all stir of mortal man
A dimmest echo, Thou art far away!
We strive to reach Thee with uplifted heads;
Our straiten'd natures, bursting bar and bond,
From all of self set free, by yearning's strength
And the fierce energy of consuming will,
Divide this blackness of the night of sense—
The mystic night obscure which parts the Soul,
Ascending Carmel's mount, from her true Spouse.
So upward, upward; seems there light at hand!
The darkness whitens, morning comes apace!
Faint shines already on her straining sight
The Blessed Master's hills and fair demesne;
And soon in bush or bower or garden close,
In dighted hold or chamber shall we meet
The Blessed Spouse and Master face to face.
And hear beyond all stir of mortal man
A dimmest echo, Thou art far away!
We strive to reach Thee with uplifted heads;
Our straiten'd natures, bursting bar and bond,
From all of self set free, by yearning's strength
And the fierce energy of consuming will,
Divide this blackness of the night of sense—
The mystic night obscure which parts the Soul,
Ascending Carmel's mount, from her true Spouse.
So upward, upward; seems there light at hand!
The darkness whitens, morning comes apace!
Faint shines already on her straining sight
The Blessed Master's hills and fair demesne;
And soon in bush or bower or garden close,
In dighted hold or chamber shall we meet
The Blessed Spouse and Master face to face.
Resplendent Vision of eternal joy,
Best, brightest, dearest, holy, holy One—
Life's measure, life's totality, life's end—
We cannot reach Thee, till Thou come to us,
Nor dwell with Thee, till Thou abide in us,
Nor see Thee, till Thou art reveal'd in us,
Nor any way, till Thou art known in us,
Can we Thy saving beauty's fulness know!
But we must reach Thee, know Thee and possess;
Thou art our nature's one necessity,
And whatsoe'er we lose, in life or death,
No part in us of body, mind, or soul
Renounces Thee. All good which works in us,
All yearning towards Thee—these are part of Thee,
And Thou art in us when we know it not.
Be more in us, that we may more be Thine;
Be with us ever till the soul, enlarged
And fortified, grow fit to gaze on Thee!
Then let the night melt on the mountain tops—
Star of the Morning, rise; lighten us then!
The time is surely near; our part is done:
Lo, we have search'd the world, crying on Thee!
Lo, we have mounted every steep of mind,
And now we wait upon the utmost range:
Horeb and Calvary and Sinai,
All peaks where man has suffer'd and has seen
Some little corner of the mystery,
Are far below; they profit nothing more:
We must have all of truth, O Lord, and Thee!
Best, brightest, dearest, holy, holy One—
Life's measure, life's totality, life's end—
We cannot reach Thee, till Thou come to us,
Nor dwell with Thee, till Thou abide in us,
Nor see Thee, till Thou art reveal'd in us,
Nor any way, till Thou art known in us,
Can we Thy saving beauty's fulness know!
But we must reach Thee, know Thee and possess;
Thou art our nature's one necessity,
And whatsoe'er we lose, in life or death,
No part in us of body, mind, or soul
Renounces Thee. All good which works in us,
217
And Thou art in us when we know it not.
Be more in us, that we may more be Thine;
Be with us ever till the soul, enlarged
And fortified, grow fit to gaze on Thee!
Then let the night melt on the mountain tops—
Star of the Morning, rise; lighten us then!
The time is surely near; our part is done:
Lo, we have search'd the world, crying on Thee!
Lo, we have mounted every steep of mind,
And now we wait upon the utmost range:
Horeb and Calvary and Sinai,
All peaks where man has suffer'd and has seen
Some little corner of the mystery,
Are far below; they profit nothing more:
We must have all of truth, O Lord, and Thee!
So call we Thee, the infinite between:
We can no more; therefore Thy time has come.
O Thou, desired of the eternal hills,
Spirit of strength, Spirit of counsel, come,
And come, O holy God! Come, Prince of Peace!
Lo, we are saint-like, and we call on Thee,
Wasteful and wanton, but the more we call!
Whatever good or evil dwells in us,
The time hath come when Thou must all be ours.
Amen, it shall be so: we will not wait:
Maker of all desire, Thou knowest this,
Thou knowest us. We do not call alone—
The voice of Antichrist and Lucifer,
With every voice, in agonised appeal,
Invoke Thee now. And Thou, O Lord, wilt come,
Thou wilt not fail, nor tarry, nor bestow
A part again, nor offer type and sign,
But Thou wilt wholly give Thy gracious self.
So all our need shall cease, for Thine are we,
Father and Mother of the gods and men!
We can no more; therefore Thy time has come.
O Thou, desired of the eternal hills,
Spirit of strength, Spirit of counsel, come,
And come, O holy God! Come, Prince of Peace!
Lo, we are saint-like, and we call on Thee,
Wasteful and wanton, but the more we call!
Whatever good or evil dwells in us,
The time hath come when Thou must all be ours.
Amen, it shall be so: we will not wait:
Maker of all desire, Thou knowest this,
Thou knowest us. We do not call alone—
The voice of Antichrist and Lucifer,
With every voice, in agonised appeal,
Invoke Thee now. And Thou, O Lord, wilt come,
Thou wilt not fail, nor tarry, nor bestow
A part again, nor offer type and sign,
But Thou wilt wholly give Thy gracious self.
So all our need shall cease, for Thine are we,
Father and Mother of the gods and men!
| The collected poems of Arthur Edward Waite | |