 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
“UNTO BABES.”
Where are now the rapture and the vision
Of the larger times,
Given to hearts that through the world's derision,
Heard eternal chimes—
Heard the angels singing the old story,
Ever new as then,
Love, that links to earth unearthly glory,
Godlike maketh men—
Love, that leads the planet on its stages,
Pours on insect's wing
Dust of gold, and down the night of ages,
Sweetly murmuring,
Steps in beauty to that Christmas carol,
Which the centuries rolls,
Clad in innocence and white apparel
Worn by virgin souls?
Where are now the words, like doors and windows
Opening into Space,
To Chaldeans, Greeks, Egyptians, Hindoos,
Flashing forth God's Face?
Are they hushed by the sour tones of treason,
With assassin tread,
Or, beneath the blasting sneer of Reason,
Dead?
Of the larger times,
Given to hearts that through the world's derision,
Heard eternal chimes—
Heard the angels singing the old story,
Ever new as then,
Love, that links to earth unearthly glory,
Godlike maketh men—
Love, that leads the planet on its stages,
Pours on insect's wing
Dust of gold, and down the night of ages,
Sweetly murmuring,
Steps in beauty to that Christmas carol,
Which the centuries rolls,
Clad in innocence and white apparel
Worn by virgin souls?
Where are now the words, like doors and windows
Opening into Space,
To Chaldeans, Greeks, Egyptians, Hindoos,
Flashing forth God's Face?
Are they hushed by the sour tones of treason,
With assassin tread,
Or, beneath the blasting sneer of Reason,
Dead?
Monarchs thought, by fruits of others' travail,
Armed with sceptred sin,
They might awful mysteries unravel,
And thus enter in;
When they talked with seers, and hoped to ravish,
By some splendid vow,
Truth, that unto kings, though lordly lavish,
Never yet did bow;
When they would, by pious fits of fasting,
In their purple pride,
Force the oracles of Wisdom casting
Thrones and toys aside.
Sages, grey with lore of every college,
Wresting from the deep
Treasures hidden, deemed with cosmic knowledge
In its starry sweep—
Stuffed with all the facts of all Induction,
Logic and its rules,
Mad from triumph in wholesale destruction
Of the sacred schools—
They could hear the Voice, the Veil could sever,
By their subtle brain;
But their boast was idle, their endeavour
Vain.
Armed with sceptred sin,
They might awful mysteries unravel,
And thus enter in;
When they talked with seers, and hoped to ravish,
By some splendid vow,
Truth, that unto kings, though lordly lavish,
Never yet did bow;
When they would, by pious fits of fasting,
In their purple pride,
Force the oracles of Wisdom casting
Thrones and toys aside.
410
Wresting from the deep
Treasures hidden, deemed with cosmic knowledge
In its starry sweep—
Stuffed with all the facts of all Induction,
Logic and its rules,
Mad from triumph in wholesale destruction
Of the sacred schools—
They could hear the Voice, the Veil could sever,
By their subtle brain;
But their boast was idle, their endeavour
Vain.
Ah, philosophies to Love not loyal,
Bubbles are that pass,
And the ignorant king however royal
Is a crownéd ass;
Not to such the rapture and the vision
Granted unto few,
Not to learning, nor the sword's decision
Bathed in bloody dew;
Not for such, but for the meek and holy,
Babes of simple faith,
Who do hear in adoration lowly
What the Silence saith;
Yea, for these the Heaven keeps yet expanding
Doors in very dust—
Windows, that ope not to brute commanding,
But to childlike trust;
From their blesséd love no truth is hidden,
Nothing is held back,
And Infinity its stores unbidden
Strews along their track;
Time for them was alway young and vernal,
Death hath only smil'd,
Theirs is Christ, who is Himself the Eternal
Child.
Bubbles are that pass,
And the ignorant king however royal
Is a crownéd ass;
Not to such the rapture and the vision
Granted unto few,
Not to learning, nor the sword's decision
Bathed in bloody dew;
Not for such, but for the meek and holy,
Babes of simple faith,
Who do hear in adoration lowly
What the Silence saith;
Yea, for these the Heaven keeps yet expanding
Doors in very dust—
Windows, that ope not to brute commanding,
But to childlike trust;
From their blesséd love no truth is hidden,
Nothing is held back,
And Infinity its stores unbidden
Strews along their track;
Time for them was alway young and vernal,
Death hath only smil'd,
Theirs is Christ, who is Himself the Eternal
Child.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |