XVII.
A lonely life, a lonely lot;
He climbs his mountain day by day;
But finds beside the stoniest way
Love's wild rock-honey, and fainteth not.
He sees the Vision shine afar;
Sweet Wedded lives in happy home;
And strains his eyes against the gloom,
Like Nuns that throb at prison-bar,
Wooed by a dear and dazzling dream,
When through the mirk Love's glory burns.
The hearth of Home warm welcome yearns;
His face is glowing with the gleam
And sparkle of their brimming cup,
Who round the Home-Altar dance and sing,
All in a golden marriage-ring,
And light with love Life's picture up.
They sit in nestling nook, and see
The ripening promise of the years;
The budding quicks, the springing ears;
Flowers honey-wet, and fruits to be.
As bridal-gifts from God above,
The Children bring their glad new spring;
Past joy's refrain their voices ring,
All loud with mirth, or lown with love.
Fine actions feed Love's holy fire,
Like sandal-wood of fragrant gold;
Till heavenward, glorious to behold,
It breaks, in many a splendid spire.
There, hand in hand, they reach across
A double range of rich delights;
And climb in safety where the heights
Of Life have many a chasm of Loss.
A happy soul goes singing aloft,
Ere closes their day-book of bliss,
So gently claspèd with a kiss,
While loving eyes grow still more soft.
“O Blessèd Bird that soars and sings,
And moves in heaven on triumphing wings;
Then drops to rest
Within my breast,
And aye some balm of blessing brings.
“O Flower of mine, Life's stream may start
Thy trembling leaves, but cannot thwart
Love's calm below,
Where wed roots grow
In twin strength, smiling heart to heart.
“O crest of beauty on my brow;
O light of love upon my prow;
To the death-dark
I row my bark;
You gild with glory as we go.”
'Tis merry to walk the deck of life,
Though billows beat, and wild winds blow,
And proudly feel they rest below;
That precious freightage, Weans and Wife.
But, he drifts on, in lonely bark,
Past shining home, and singing isle.
Fine Apparition, with a smile
Like spirit-music! in the dark
Her sudden beauty lightens near,
And bows him to the knees in prayer.
He needs long draughts of heavenly air,
Who dives to clutch a pearl so dear.
“I may not reach to wreathe you yet, dear friend,
Although of your great courtesy you bend
Toward me that stand a-tip-toe as you bow;
I must mount higher ere I crown your brow,
And lead you forth where all the world may see
The dear good Angel you have been to me.”
