 | English Roses |  |
PAIN THE DIVINE.
O blessèd Pain,
I look to thee
For all the comforts that I know,
The music in the mourning strain,
The fruit upon the blasted tree
More sweet than any fruit below.
Whate'er is fitter
Or beautiful and fine and sweet,
Is by the bitter—
The deadly secret drop at core,
Or surly dross that hides the ore—
Made wonderful and wise and meet.
O Blessed Lord,
Thou art more near
And precious in the test of flame,
Beneath the judgment of the sword
Or solemn night of sudden fear,
Than at the silken ease of shame.
It is the cruel
Sharp nail, or crimson-flowering thorn,
Which grows a jewel
Deep in the wounded brow or breast,
And frets the weary soul to rest
As though on Thine own Bosom borne.
I look to thee
For all the comforts that I know,
The music in the mourning strain,
The fruit upon the blasted tree
More sweet than any fruit below.
Whate'er is fitter
Or beautiful and fine and sweet,
Is by the bitter—
The deadly secret drop at core,
Or surly dross that hides the ore—
Made wonderful and wise and meet.
O Blessed Lord,
Thou art more near
And precious in the test of flame,
Beneath the judgment of the sword
595
Than at the silken ease of shame.
It is the cruel
Sharp nail, or crimson-flowering thorn,
Which grows a jewel
Deep in the wounded brow or breast,
And frets the weary soul to rest
As though on Thine own Bosom borne.
Thrice-holy pain,
Thy passion streams
Forth from the broken Heart of God;
It flows through all the golden gain
Which, mingled of our deeds and dreams,
Opens new joys of worlds untrod.
Thou art the marrow,
Of sturdy toil that rounds the days;
Else were they narrow,
Poor sheeptracts and the narrow ruts
Of tameness which on trifling shuts,
And not the broad imperial ways.
Thrice Holy Lord,
This is Thy Life,
The very pulse that in Thee beats
And moulds our minds in true accord
With Thee, and blossoms out of strife—
It stirs the systems' hidden seats.
Thy crown of Glory
Is not the risen and radiant star,
A triumph story;
But agony of Love and Loss,
Which smiles in rapture o'er the Cross,
Whereat the gates of Death unbar.
Thy passion streams
Forth from the broken Heart of God;
It flows through all the golden gain
Which, mingled of our deeds and dreams,
Opens new joys of worlds untrod.
Thou art the marrow,
Of sturdy toil that rounds the days;
Else were they narrow,
Poor sheeptracts and the narrow ruts
Of tameness which on trifling shuts,
And not the broad imperial ways.
Thrice Holy Lord,
This is Thy Life,
The very pulse that in Thee beats
And moulds our minds in true accord
With Thee, and blossoms out of strife—
It stirs the systems' hidden seats.
Thy crown of Glory
Is not the risen and radiant star,
A triumph story;
But agony of Love and Loss,
Which smiles in rapture o'er the Cross,
Whereat the gates of Death unbar.
Divinest Pain,
Mysterious food,
Thou givest all the spirit asks;
While nerving arms that else in vain
(The sport of some rebellious mood)
Were braced to meet their iron tasks.
Monarchs and ermined
High judges tread Thy troubled road,
Dim but determined
From everlasting; and the sheen
Of beauty, shed by bloom or queen,
Were nought without Thy piercing goad.
Divinest Lord,
Thy perfect will
Demands the payment of the pangs
Which strike in Thee a common chord,
And make us partners though they kill—
Eternity upon them hangs.
Thy throne majestic
Is built of sadness, and finds woes
Dear and domestic;
And only he can reign as king
Who with Thee walks through suffering,
Shaken and shaped by fiery throes.
Mysterious food,
Thou givest all the spirit asks;
While nerving arms that else in vain
(The sport of some rebellious mood)
Were braced to meet their iron tasks.
596
High judges tread Thy troubled road,
Dim but determined
From everlasting; and the sheen
Of beauty, shed by bloom or queen,
Were nought without Thy piercing goad.
Divinest Lord,
Thy perfect will
Demands the payment of the pangs
Which strike in Thee a common chord,
And make us partners though they kill—
Eternity upon them hangs.
Thy throne majestic
Is built of sadness, and finds woes
Dear and domestic;
And only he can reign as king
Who with Thee walks through suffering,
Shaken and shaped by fiery throes.
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