University of Virginia Library

II. THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY.

I. TO THE READER.

Brother, who glancest with a heedless eye
At these my strains, to thee they well may seem
To show but forms of a distemper'd dream,
So far from thoughts and hopes of thine they lie.
I know that they are fated soon to die;
But, if they live the common term of men,
And one who knows his time shall read them then,
He may perchance with sympathetic sigh
Thus muse or murmur—‘When our faith was young,
This man beheld and bless'd the dawning light,
And sang its triumph in no doubtful tone,
Though with a tuneless harp and stammering tongue.’
O well for me, if coming years shall write
Such words as these on my memorial stone!

II. TRANSFIGURATION.

I.

Late in a dream methought I slowly stray'd
Through an antique cathedral's spaces vast,
And in the Lady Chapel stood at last
Before a picture, where my steps I stay'd
In contemplation of the group portray'd
By the old master's pencil, which surpass'd
All others in the mystic charm it cast
About the features of the blessed Maid.
Star-crown'd she stood upon a crescent moon,
And to her bosom clasp'd her wondrous boy.
The Eternal Father, stooping from above,
O'er son and mother stretch'd His arms of love;
While hovering cherubs sang some heavenly tune,
Their faces kindled with adoring joy.

III. TRANSFIGURATION.

II.

While still I gazed upon the pictured scene,
The outlines seem'd before mine eyes to swim,
And all the forms to waver and dislimn.
The Father faded in the clear serene
Of space ethereal, and no more was seen.
Slowly receded to the distance dim
The winged host, while, group'd where they had been,
A quire of holy women sang the hymn.
The Virgin still her baby fondly press'd,
But not upon the moon her feet were placed;
Now on our kindly planet did they rest;
And on the letter'd scroll above her head,
Where late the name Deipara I read,
Stood out l'Umanità distinctly traced.

IV.

O mater dolorosa! with what pain
Thy feet have upward trod the steep incline
Which leads to all things good! that heart of thine—
What swords have pierc'd it through, whilst not in vain
Thy toil was spent to nurture, teach, and train
Hero and sage, and form that thing divine,
The Woman as we know her—to refine
The coarse, and make our rugged pathway plain.
Wearied and faint, thou yet with faith sublime
Hast labour'd on, and held thy suffering light
In contemplation of a better time.
How can we such long martyrdom requite?
May heart, brain, hand thy duteous servants be,
And love, thought, life, be consecrate to Thee!

V.

Once oft I strain'd mine eyes in hope to see
The form by human fancy drawn in air
Of a first Good, first Perfect and first Fair;
For infinitely great, me-seem'd, must be
The Power to which my soul could bend her knee—
To which should rise the passion of her prayer.
But now such fruitless quest do I forbear,
Finding all fulness in Humanity.
Of the great thoughts that quicken and sustain
None was inspired by supernatural breath;
Each sprang unprompted in a human brain.
And, search the depths below, the heights above,
Nought nobler wilt thou find than human love—
Love, that is subject to, yet conquers, Death.

VI. GUARDIAN ANGELS.

The Being that enfolds in her embrace
Our little lives and binds them into one,
We image as a Mother with her son
Clasp'd in her arms, because sole fount of grace
Is She to all the children of our race.
But, though we own her presence ever near,
She speaks no word to any mortal ear,
No mortal eye may look upon her face.
We know her through her angels, whom she sends—
Not airy creatures borne on radiant wings,
But loving women, born to be our friends,
To walk beside us on life's common way,
To be our charm and solace day by day,
And raise our drooping souls to higher things.

VII. INTERPRETERS.

Those does our Virgin Mother, full of grace,
As her Vicegerents send, that we may see
Her mingled tenderness and purity
Reflected in each well-belovèd face;
And other rarer spirits of our race
Ordains as her Interpreters, that She
Through them may speak her oracles, and we
Be mov'd her blessed service to embrace.
Two name I, whom our Master prized the most—
The mighty bard, who saw the depths of Hell,
And heard the anthems of the heavenly host;
And the meek saint, who in his convent cell,
All worldly noises silenc'd, bent his ear
The whispers of the voice divine to hear.

VIII.

The Master first brought clearly to our view
That woman's nature is a higher thing
Than man's, and from her, as a living spring,
Ever his noblest impulses he drew.
Yet was this precious truth not wholly new;
To souls elect no secret had it been:
And here the Southern heart had farther seen
Than the cold Northern intellect could do.
Dante on Beatrice upward gazed,
All self-abased, in reverential love,
And with bow'd head receiv'd her grave rebuke;
While Milton's Adam, as God's image rais'd
To fancied height, with condescending look
Eve's tender grace contemplates from above.

IX. PISGAH.

In th' irreligious city of the Seine
I sat, a listener at the Master's feet,
And to my soul his earnest words were sweet
As to parch'd earth the fertilizing rain.
He show'd me how men's spirits once again
In witness of a common faith shall meet,
And how their hearts in unison shall beat
Under Humanity's eternal reign.
The dawn is spreading over hill and plain,
And, when the growing morn full day shall be,
The renovated life of all our kind
Its metropolitan home and fane shall find
For ages long—O wondrous destiny!—
In the religious city of the Seine.

X. ‘UTINAM VIDEREM.’

‘O would,’ said holy Bernard, ‘I could see
The Church of God as in the days of old!’
So yearns my feebler spirit to behold—
Ah! yet far off—thy Church, Humanity!
As in the coming ages it shall be,
When nations shall be gather'd in thy fold,
In every tongue thy oracles be told,
And millions in thy temples bow the knee.
Then we no more shall spend our wealth of love
Upon imagin'd beings in the skies,
Or waste our thoughts on things beyond our ken;
But flood our hearts with human sympathies,
Content our planet dwelling to improve,
And solace, raise, and bless our brother-men.

XI. THE CHILDHOOD OF HUMANITY.

The human child, arriving on earth's shore,
Finds itself welcomed to a loving breast,
And sweetly fed, and lapp'd in soothing rest;
And, when the years of others' rule are o'er,
Wise counsel meets him, and the gather'd lore
Of the past ages' loftiest souls and best;
And so, unless his lot be all unblest,
He grows in heart and head from more to more.
But when the race was born, and on its way
First enter'd, who its dubious steps could guide?
From out itself it framed the needed stay.
It shaped ideal beings to preside
O'er its dim march, and in their fancied sway
Its own high thoughts and aims personified.

XII. THE HUMAN HERITAGE.

Eternal Power, to whom our lives belong,
Heirs are we at our birth of all the store
Piled in thy treasure-house from days of yore
For use or splendour—ordinances strong
To guard the weak and tie the hands of wrong—
The civic wisdom, and the sacred lore
Potent to guide, to chasten, to restore—
The wealth of tender, noble, passionate song—
And all the marvel and the charm of Art.
Thou art the living fountain, whence alone
Comes all of stay or solace that is ours.
Shall we not then, with glad and grateful heart.
To thy dear service consecrate our powers,
And give thee back some portion of thine own?

XIII.

Brothers, remember what the Master said,
And all great souls had dimly felt before—
‘In sober truth, and ever more and more,
The men who live are govern'd by the dead.’
The rules by which our daily lives are led,
Our faith, our arts, our language and our lore—
We did not make them, but inherited,
Augmenting little the transmitted store.
For us, the children of a younger day,
The noble deeds of olden time were done;
For us were Freedom's ancient battles won,
And saintly sufferers trod the toilsome way;
Be thankful, then, at thought of Marathon,
And 'midst Iona's ruins pause and pray.

XIV. THE NEW SYNTHESIS.

When closed my song-charm'd boyhood's dreamy days,
Began austerer Science to invite
My spirit, seeking everywhere for light.
I learn'd the line and surface to appraise,
And star and planet fix'd my studious gaze.
Then did I yearn to reach a specular height,
Whose cloudless vantage should command the sight
Of Man's whole world and all his works and ways.
For guidance thither long I sought in vain,
Till he I count the chief of those who know
Taught us such mount of vision to attain,
Seven golden stairs ascending from below.
Eager I sprang his sacred lore to meet,
And sat a glad disciple at his feet.

XV. MEA CULPA.

When I remember how in youth, misled
By bookish lore and intellectual pride,
And in life's grave realities untried,
I blindly rank'd the heart below the head,
And, to my self-sufficient follies wed,
Unletter'd worth and simple faith decried—
Paining sweet souls that then were at my side,
And now are number'd with the blessed dead—
‘Master,’ I cry—when this I call to mind—
‘Why did I not thy doctrine earlier know?
Then might I from remorseful thoughts be free
That haunt me now; for none had power like thee
My wrestling rebel spirit to lay low,
And with the cords of strong persuasion bind.’

XVI.

Ere yet I reach'd the middle of life's way,
I found myself within a darksome wood,
Where most that in me dwelt of native good
Was stifled or obscured, my inner day
Was dimm'd, and more and more I went astray,
By Demas fool'd, by Lamian spells subdued;
And with keen zeal unworthy aims pursued,
Prizing as jewels things of common clay.
Not mine the merit that at length I woke.
Ofttimes mine ears had caught the Master's word,
But now within my heart his voice was heard;
And thou, my dear one, camest to my side.
I took thee for my guardian and my guide,
And bow'd my spirit to thy gentle yoke.

XVII. DE PROFUNDIS.

‘Let all thy life be a perpetual prayer.’
So said the Master, and my soul replies—
‘Might but the fire within me oftener rise
And struggle upward into purer air!
For now, alas, depress'd by worldly care
Or narrowing thoughts, it droops and almost dies,
Till sudden inspiration vivifies
The flame once more; but ah! such grace is rare.’
Yet do I cleave unto the better part.
Let me love more, and nought I ask beside.
To others be the laurel crown of art,
And wealth, and all that ministers to pride.
Not these my portion—only let my heart
Be fill'd with love, and I am satisfied.

XVIII. A POSITIVIST SOLEMNITY.

Now dawns the sacred day of All the Dead.
Not only those by household memories
Link'd with our lives, for whom on bended knees
Daily we yearn, and tears not seldom shed—
Nor only the great spirits who have led
Man's upward march to nobler destinies,
Whose record in Fame's golden book is read—
We reverence to-day; not only these,
But all, in whatsoever age or clime
(Albeit the names of most the unpitying Hours
Have hid for ever in the abyss of time),
Who faithful, patient, helpful strove to be,
And so, while worshipping imagin'd Powers,
True service did, Humanity! to Thee.

XIX. A RELIGIOUS SYMBOL.

Trefoil of Erin! as I contemplate
Thy sister leaflets, I behold in these
An emblem of profound triplicities
That live in nature and in man's estate.
Three are the Norns that weave the web of fate
In silent loom—Past, Present, and To-be;
And Feeling, Thought, and Action are the three
Handmaids that on the human spirit wait.
The Apostle of our isle—as legends tell—
Used thee to symbolise a mystery
Now fading from our souls; but thou as well
May'st type for future men who look on thee
Our sacred Triad indivisible—
Family, Mother-land, Humanity.

XX. THE MODERN FETISHISM.

Fear not, I pray thee, my too scrupulous friend,
Trusting the impulse of poetic thought,
To image all the visible world as fraught
With will and feeling, which for ever tend
To universal good, their common end.
Such genial faith, from primal instinct caught
By the first men, in these last times is taught
By highest wisdom, which thus fain would blend
With all of truth that studious years have found
The fresh conceptions of our infant race.
Doubt not the Sun upon his distant peers
And on his subject orbs looks fondly round,
And planets, dancing through delighted space,
Hail with admiring joy their sister spheres.

XXI.

Master, amid the turmoil and the strife,
How shall my spirit calm and trustful be?
Thus only, if the fountains of my life
Are hidden in Humanity with thee.

THE TRIUMPH OF HUMANITY:

A HYMN OF THE PAST AND THE FUTURE.