The Christian Scholar :: :: University of Virginia Library

Is it as stars and blue profound
Are imag'd in the ground,
Where waters lie beneath our feet,
Or gather in the street ,
That truths of Heaven their shadows find
In man's reflective mind?

Or is it that the voice of God
Is in the multitude,
In stillness like a casual word
'Mid broken ruins heard,
That Faith that walks the heavenly span
Her echo hears in man?

Or where above the glassy Sea
Stands everlastingly,
Some drops in secret reach the cells
Of subterranean wells,
And bear to every clime of earth
The traces of their birth?

Or that the four-fold streams below
From ancient Eden flow,
And as they gather stains abroad,
Diverging on their road,
Yet still retain beneath all skies
Something of Paradise?

Or as some simultaneous throe
Through nature seems to go,
When birds appear divinely wise
Beyond their destinies,
And all untaught in every clime
Respond to varied time?

Or as by some celestial art
With friends that are apart,
Associate feelings will awake,
Or thoughts responsive break:
As if some spirit of the skies
Convey'd their sympathies?

Moves there 'mid minds some unseen power,
Like bee from flower to flower?
With intermingling of their kinds
From each to each it winds,
The seed, or dust, or honey brings
On loaded thigh or wings.

Or is it in man's nature deep
Truth's embryo forms may sleep,
As trees which high-embow'ring shoot
In fibres of the root;
Their miniatures there seem to lie,
Which ne'er saw sun or sky?

Or as when 'neath the vengeful skies
Ruin'd and buried lies
Some ancient City, not in vain
The relics yet remain,
And mystic pillars long may stand
Upon Oblivion's strand?

Or is the wisdom of the wise
The pedestal which lies
Beneath the feet of Christian Truth,
Which there in endless youth
Reflected sees her form divine
In pavement of her shrine?

Or as the strains which through the gloom
Slumber in Memnon's tomb,
Till on them morning sunbeams fall,
And thence their echoes call,
In golden radiance forth are shed
Harmonies of the dead?

Or like as when our shadows gleam
On some deep glassy stream;
Kingdoms of nature and of grace
Thus answer face to face;
Though right and left revers'd we find,
No substance true behind?

Or that the Father, from Whose home
They wander'd forth in gloom,
Still darkly with His children walk'd,
And with their spirit talk'd,

And dimly left in every place
The footmarks of His grace?

Or that the glorious orb of light
Had baffled their weak sight;
And when their back on Him was turn'd
Who is in Christ discern'd;
They in the creatures manifold
His Image still behold?

Or is it as God's wondrous hand
Through air, and sea, and land,
In herb, and beast, and bird is seen,
And poisonous snakes unclean;
So 'mid the nations in each place
His Wisdom leaves a trace?

Or while naught hideth from His heat
Who makes the sun His seat,
As day to day with tongue of flames
His kingdom wide proclaims,
So night to night where shadows dwell
May of His knowledge tell?

Or is it as dark shores of Nile
Once cradled Christ awhile,
And infant Moses safe could sleep
On that Egyptian deep,

The Law and Gospel thus were laid
Beneath a pagan shade?

Or is it as when Israel's God
Was seen in Moses' rod,
The shadow of the power of Heaven
Was to magicians given,
Till they, surpass'd in their own strife,
Should own the Prince of Life?

Or as to the Chaldean Seer
Searching the starry sphere,
Tho' other his design and thought,
And more than all he sought,
Appear'd the glorious Bethlehem's star
To lead him from afar?

Or is it as 'mong Prophets old
Who of things sacred told,
Before us Saul, and Caiaphas,
And wicked Balaam pass;
Who while the good they set aside
Christ's kingdom prophesied?

Or as through that Divine command
Which guided Pilate's hand,
All nations on that hallow'd spot,
Although they knew it not,

Their King on Sion's hill enthron'd
In Greek and Latin own'd?

Or that where Christ, a hidden guest,
Hath by His Presence blest,
Although His hour be “not yet come,”
To make the world His home,
Nature hath caught a ray Divine,
And water turns to wine?

Or is it as when Christ appear'd,
The devils saw and fear'd?
'Neath some mysterious power unknown
The Lord of life they own,
Although to them no leave was given
To own the God of Heaven.

Or is it, though a veil of clouds
Christ's going ever shrouds,
Where He hath pass'd upon the night
There is a track of light,
And 'mid the dark-blue vault serene
A lucid gleam is seen?

Or is it as on Tabor's height,
When broke forth wondrous light,
Frail sons of men in nearness brought,
The glorious radiance caught,

Thus in the Gospel's light Divine
E'en heathen sages shine?

Or is it thus the wilderness,
Forgetting her distress,
Can bloom like garden of the Lord,
Like Eden fruits afford:
The fountain in the desert flows,
The thistle bears the rose?

Or is it that the seas profound
With goodly pearls abound,
Wherein the merchant spent his toil
Through that long night's turmoil,
The pearl of endless price to gain
Still seeking though in vain?

Or is it as the gleams that fall
On the lost Prodigal,
On his disfigur'd face appear
His homeward course to cheer,
The Father hastening from His place
With His preventing grace?

Or is it as 'mid deserts dry
The solitary cry
Of the lost sheep, when heard aright
In stillness of the night,

By the good Shepherd from of old
Heard in the distant fold?

Or is it that the mystic race
Was symbol of His grace,
When the torch went from hand to hand
Through Greece's festal band;
Thus age to age pass'd on the fire,
Nor let it all expire?

It is that the true God of Heaven,
By fruitful seasons given,
Ne'er of His light mankind bereft,
Nor without witness left;
But as in nature's course around
His voices did abound,
So was His witness heard within,
Pleading with man and sin,
And ever blending precepts high,
Which never more shall die.

Corpora mirando sub terras abdita cœlo.”

Lucret, iv. 214, 415.

“Την φιλοσοφιαν Ελλησιν... υποβαθραν ουσαν της κατα Χριστον φιλοσοφιας.” Clem. Strom. vi.