The Christian Scholar :: :: University of Virginia Library

If it be so—then this o'er-arching hall,
And Heaven's deep-thundering temples covering all,
On pillars of blue ether, sown with stars,
Where walks the Sun imprison'd in strange bars,—
And Earth, with trees and streams and mountains crown'd,
And girdle of blue waters girding round,—
This scene, o'er which there hangs the clear profound,
Is but a cavern where the soul is pent;
And the blue roofs of this our firmament
Shall tumble in, by ruin dash'd, or fly
Like a white cloud vanish'd from Summer sky.
Then Death is to the soul the dungeon door,
As Eve lets out the sun on twilight's shore.
It follows—this our poor and fretful talk
Of men, and states, and kingdoms, is to walk
With shadows, with the substance at the gate,
And it may be to waken all too late.

For if, from out the star-encircled tent,
To be with us the golden Sun is sent,
To touch with life-giving ethereal touch
The springs of life, it matters surely much

252

Whether we walk in that serener day,
Or turn'd to darkness work our own decay.

Like cause doth like effect in like produce,
In all but man; the Elements let loose
Range o'er the earth, yet bear a hidden rein;
Each doth his given work in given chain,—
Traceable by eye of reason though unseen.
Two roses nurtured 'neath one canopy,
Together rise and bloom, together die;
Two elms coeval in harmonious strife
Throw round their green arms, and drink equal life;
Two streams together haste to Ocean's hall;
Two upward flames together mount or fall .
Not so in man, himself creates the cause
Of his own acts; he moves by self-framed laws,
Self-framed each hour, while on the verge that lies
'Tween good and evil stern Probation tries;
And all he does is seed to something still
Beyond, more strong in grace or prone to ill.
Two mortals by the water side of life
Spring from one root, yet gradual prove they rife
With different natures, this with healing dight
And gladness, that with deadly aconite;
E'en as the Will within her secret shrines
Gathers the heavenly influence or declines;

253

'Tis not our own, it cometh down from high,
And therefore 'tis that Virtue cannot die,
Since not of birth terrestrial, born of light
That comes beyond the ebon house of night.
To choose or shun the path to good or ill,
Severing each moment, this doth form the Will;
Thus they who 'mid the varied things of sense
Trace out the maze of cause and consequence;—
Nor own 'mid mighty waters calm and deep
His footsteps;—on they dream—till in their sleep
Hearing His Voice they hear not, nor detect
In His own house the glorious Architect.

The golden Sun perchance is on the Sea,
Listening to Hymns of Evening's harmony,
So sweet,—Silence herself is audible
With the Creator's praise,—from hill or dell
Sound birds and lowing herds, till o'er the close
Darkness lets fall her mantle of repose,
And Night adoring climbs with silent urn,
To light the lamps that round His temple burn.
Or when the Morn sends forth her harbinger,
Which with her coming doth all nature stir,
And noisy crow on wing, and thrush on bough,
Give signals of the twilight on Night's brow
Appearing, strains prelusive of the choir,
Which soon shall burst from Nature's morning lyre,
Woke by the Sun unto Creation's King;
All to new life arise and stir and sing.

254

Mean while the Sage, in Wisdom's tower sublime,
Sees the small atom from his unseen clime,
Posting before the Sunbeam—as most fit
Marshal his troops, or in sage council sit,
Life to create and order, into light
Come from beyond the regions of the sight,
And hurry on his mantle, red, blue, green ,
T' invest creation, paint and deck the scene.

As if the Echo to its green retreats
He had pursued, unfolding its wild seats,
Till he, 'mid rocks grotesque, and tangled wood,
Forgot the Voice itself from which it flow'd.
As if the glorious thought and golden strain,
So wondrous bound in the melodious chain
Of some great Pindar, were but sounds that broke
Responsive, by some gale Eolian woke,
Dying upon it; or as if the rays
Of some lov'd countenance on which we gaze,
Were lit up by no unseen light behind;
So dark a cloud the faithless eye doth blind!

This comes of seeing and of tracing on
Cause after cause,—in wondrous union
Concentrating, combining to a whole,—
And owning not the Maker. For the Soul

255

At every step when she around her cell
Sees yet adores not the Adorable,
More faint and faint the gleams, which with Him dwell,
Break out on her, more feebly His dear voice,
That which alone bids nature to rejoice,
More faint and faint she hears; till all alone
From scene to scene of doubt she wanders on
Along a dreary waste, starless and long,
Starless and sad a dreary waste along,
Uncheer'd—unsatisfied—for evermore,
Companionless, and fatherless, and poor.

Enough is given that they who would adore
Might find their Maker; ever more and more
Himself disclosing to the pure in heart,
He leads them in Himself to have a part.
Else it were sad indeed through things of sense,
Or sweet scenes form'd by sportive elements,
To range on sick at heart; for sad and lone
Was Youth in all its freshness, though when gone
So seeming fair; beneath a vernal sky,
'Mid flowers and singing birds it heaved the sigh;
But as it flew, it turn'd, and cast behind
Longing, regretful looks, and seem'd most kind
When lost for ever,—from the things of sight
A bird of golden wing hath ta'en his flight,
And left us desolate: o'er gathering years
Silent and cold Winter her head uprears.

256

Far otherwise when hopes of better Love
Fill all with sacred breath,—rays from above
Light up the cloud—then toilsome nights and days,
To rise, to sleep , to live o'er weary ways
In loneliness, to wed with solitude,
To go out, and return, and find no good ,
These all are by a Holy Presence warm.
In each dark shade there stands a living Form,
By the wayside, by lonely shore, in feast
Else wearisome,—beside the well , nor least
In holy Temples doth that Form abide,
Who ne'er from them that sought Him turn'd aside.
His sheltering mantle rests upon the Earth,
'Neath whose bright folds we have our second birth;
Be we content awhile therein to lie,
Until the storm and whirlwind have past by.

'Tis better that thus dimly we should scan
His steps, disclos'd as meet for sinful man;
For but suppose that Heaven's familiar door
O'erarching, and the star-indented floor
Flew open, and disclos'd the towers afar ;
As fishes ranging 'neath their watery bar
Know nought of tower or city, grove or glen,
Green mantled earth, and singing bird, and men,
So rove we in this vapoury prison pent,—
Emerging in ethereal element

257

We should see that which would our hearts appa.
With wonder, more than all this varied ball,
Yea, more than blind men dream of untried light.
But in th' amazement of th' o'erwhelming sight
How should we love Him? rather for awhile
Let us with prayer this winding cave beguile,
And lowlier thoughts more meet for earthly bond,
For fearfully the Glory shines beyond
This twilight—rapidly 'tis onward borne,
And we have much to do, and much to mourn.

In these I linger not, for thus to dream,
And meditate, and choose the learned theme,
For these we have no leisure—bound for far
We loiter, while we talk the leading star
Is setting, yonder breaks on distant lawn
The skirt of Day—the trees are in the dawn.

See the Christian Year for St. Luke's day, also Aristotle's Ethics b. iii. c. ii.

See Lucretius, b. ii. that the motion of these atoms is more rapid than that of light, that they are of themselves colourless, but assume colour in their combinations.

See p. 234.

See p. 235.

See p. 233.

S. John iv. 6.

See p. 249.