The Collected Poems of Lord De Tabley :: :: University of Virginia Library

Seven times a day in groanings manifold,
I bend with one petition as thy slave,
My great prayer leaving lesser wants untold;
Thrice in each night I kneel out in the cold.

To this one apple in the grove of prayer
My thought, my life, my pulses turn and crave.
Earth doth not yield another boon so fair,
Hope of my youth, dream of my silver hair!

All other gifts are barren as the sea.
My field of time will only ripen weeds,
If this fruit perish unenjoyed by me.
Hearken, because I cry continually!

Men ask such vain and empty things at best,
Health, children, coin, a fair wife, merry deeds;
While these with many paltry needs molest,
Single and easy is my sole request.

Men kneel and mutter over forms by rote,
They are content with any gabbled word;
But I, with broken voice and burning throat,
On one distinct entreaty dwell and gloat.

My seething thought inclines to one desire;
A want that vexes as a grinding sword
Marrow and bone; whose abstinence to fire
Changes the common air which I respire.

Are fervid lips and idle ones the same,
Is it as one to pray or hold our peace?
If one neglect confound my words of flame
With their chill drivel, will no heart exclaim,—

“Let worship die; entreat not Zeus again
Hard in his crust of apathetic ease;
Control thy tears, thy bleeding heart refrain,
He never solaced any in their pain.

“Curl up no more vain incense to his skies;
Beat not thy breast, and eat thy bread in peace.
Rend not thy robe, since he alone is wise
Who sips the cup of pleasure till he dies.

“God's equal dealing differs from thine own;
His justice is not weighed in human scale.
He hardly hears thee bless, or heeds thee moan
Thy hoard of curses climbing to his throne.

“Why wilt thou weary him? Thy voice ascends
Weak, yet persistent; as an insect's wail,
It trickles up for ever, and offends
Where daylight into god-light rushing blends.

“It beats the porches of eternal beams,
Importunate it will not be denied;
A weary echo in a land of dreams,
Marring the tender chime of sleepy streams.

“It will not fail or be denied or sleep,
Or cease or gather silence; as a tide
That breaks, recurs, and breaks along the deep;
Until a dreamer on the shore could weep,—

“So irksome is its iteration grown,—
To get the sound away and have his rest.
So may at length one prayer win access, thrown
Against heaven's gate as feeble foam is blown!”

So men will change thy glory into worse,
And idle lips will censure thee, most blest.
I ask no miracle; that thou reverse
The seasons, or descend in some great curse.

Nature is stronger than thou art divine;
I pray not foolish for her overthrow;
That snow-time hang ripe clusters on my vine,
That rain refresh my field and only mine.

I ask not, that in spheres of ether grey
The blackened stars be torn and hurled below;
That the round sun ride eastward on his way,
That Luna draw the deeps three times a day.

But all my being withers in the want
Of one ripe, excellent, and righteous thing,
For which the sources of my nature pant
And dwell in bitter thirst until thou grant.

Wilt thou endure, while changeful seasons roll,
To watch my changeless hunger riveting
Its earnest eyes on one eternal goal?
O lord, I ask thee to complete my soul!

Count over, king, my multitude of prayers,
Number them all, if number's feeble wing
Can rise to comprehend that host of theirs;
Which holds thee, god, my debtor unawares,

For praises unreturned, unheeded vows,
Cries in the night which had no answering,
For many moanings and unnumbered woes—
Hear, for a man gives payment where he owes.

Ah, deal not falsely, as a merchant may,
Who take thy merchandise and doth not bring
Coin to reward its use for many a day—
Nay, thou wilt hear and, if thou canst, repay!