 | Sonnets and Other Poems Chiefly Religious |  |
23
POEMS IN THE STANZA OF “IN MEMORIAM.”
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BELFAST LOUGH.
I sailed at morning down the bay,
'Mid scenes familiar to my sight.
The sky was neither dark nor bright,
And mist upon the water lay;
'Mid scenes familiar to my sight.
The sky was neither dark nor bright,
And mist upon the water lay;
And somewhat dimly, through the mist,
The mountains rose; no light and shade
Upon their sides in beauty played;
No floating clouds their summits kissed.
The mountains rose; no light and shade
Upon their sides in beauty played;
No floating clouds their summits kissed.
Wide were the waters round me spread;
They slumbered not in heavenly blue,
Nor rolled in waves of emerald hue,
But almost had the tint of lead.
They slumbered not in heavenly blue,
Nor rolled in waves of emerald hue,
But almost had the tint of lead.
No billows dashed upon the shore,
Nor whitened o'er the open seas;
There was no freshness in the breeze;
Sea, earth, and sky no gladness wore.
Nor whitened o'er the open seas;
There was no freshness in the breeze;
Sea, earth, and sky no gladness wore.
It was my home, the scene around,
Though not in light and smiles arrayed;
It seemed a place for labour made,
Where pleasure hardly might be found.
Though not in light and smiles arrayed;
It seemed a place for labour made,
Where pleasure hardly might be found.
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Again I sailed, at evening, back.
The mountains wore a purple gloom,
And strangely did the sun illume
With level rays the vessel's track;
The mountains wore a purple gloom,
And strangely did the sun illume
With level rays the vessel's track;
For where the mountain ridge is low
The sun was sinking to his rest;
And all the spaces of the West
Were filled with opal-tinted glow;
The sun was sinking to his rest;
And all the spaces of the West
Were filled with opal-tinted glow;
And down upon the waters wide
A flood of fiery radiance came,
A column made of wavy flame,
And rippled in the rippling tide.
A flood of fiery radiance came,
A column made of wavy flame,
And rippled in the rippling tide.
Where fronts the hill the setting sun,
The windows of the village turned
To ruddy fire; awhile they burned,
Then ceased, like tapers, one by one.
The windows of the village turned
To ruddy fire; awhile they burned,
Then ceased, like tapers, one by one.
The mist was changed to doubtful light;
The mountains of the western shore
Were farther, larger, than before;
And scattered sails were gleaming white.
The mountains of the western shore
Were farther, larger, than before;
And scattered sails were gleaming white.
It was my home, the scene around,
Though not in home-like light arrayed
It seemed a place for visions made,
Enchanted sea, and fairy ground.
Though not in home-like light arrayed
It seemed a place for visions made,
Enchanted sea, and fairy ground.
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And, as I gazed upon the change,
I thought;—The second world, foretold
By many a sage and seer of old,
May not itself be new or strange;
I thought;—The second world, foretold
By many a sage and seer of old,
May not itself be new or strange;
Only another light may shine
Than that which rules our earthly days;
For we shall dwell beneath the rays
Of Light Eternal and Divine.
Than that which rules our earthly days;
For we shall dwell beneath the rays
Of Light Eternal and Divine.
27
“NO MORE SEA.”
The holy seer of Patmos told
Of visions of a world to be,
Eternal, calm, and where the sea
Shall round the earth no more be rolled.
Of visions of a world to be,
Eternal, calm, and where the sea
Shall round the earth no more be rolled.
And I, to whom the waves' long roar
Has ever been a sound of joy;
Who loved the ocean when a boy,
And now, in manhood, love it more;—
Has ever been a sound of joy;
Who loved the ocean when a boy,
And now, in manhood, love it more;—
I wondered long what this might mean,
If, in that second world sublime,
'Mid all the garnered wealth of time,
The ocean shall no more be seen;
If, in that second world sublime,
'Mid all the garnered wealth of time,
The ocean shall no more be seen;
Till flashed this meaning on my thought;—
The mystery, awful and profound,
That shuts our narrow being round,
Whereto at last our life is brought;
The mystery, awful and profound,
That shuts our narrow being round,
Whereto at last our life is brought;
This mighty mystery shall be known,
This ocean turned to solid land,
Whereon the sons of God shall stand,
And build, and use it as their own.
This ocean turned to solid land,
Whereon the sons of God shall stand,
And build, and use it as their own.
28
A THOUGHT OF STOICISM.
I have ere now been half inclined
To wish the present life were all;
That death upon the soul might fall,
And darkness overwhelm the mind.
To wish the present life were all;
That death upon the soul might fall,
And darkness overwhelm the mind.
Not that I envied then the beast
Which never thinks of good or ill,
And only cares to eat his fill
At mighty Nature's bounteous feast;
Which never thinks of good or ill,
And only cares to eat his fill
At mighty Nature's bounteous feast;
But that our motives might be pure,
And free our choice and clear our way,
The law of conscience to obey,
Whether to act or to endure;
And free our choice and clear our way,
The law of conscience to obey,
Whether to act or to endure;
To fight with sin, without regard
To conquests in the battle won;
To say at last, “My work is done;
I die, and seek for no reward.”
To conquests in the battle won;
To say at last, “My work is done;
I die, and seek for no reward.”
And yet I know 'tis better far
That faith should look beyond the grave
On Him Who died, the world to save,
And rose to be the Polar Star,
That faith should look beyond the grave
On Him Who died, the world to save,
And rose to be the Polar Star,
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For ever, of our hope and love;
To guide us on through death and night,
To realms of deathless life and light,
To mansions of the blest above.
To guide us on through death and night,
To realms of deathless life and light,
To mansions of the blest above.
I know 'tis well to trust the Power
Who makes the buried seeds to bloom,
That He will raise me from the tomb,
As summer's breath awakes a flower;
Who makes the buried seeds to bloom,
That He will raise me from the tomb,
As summer's breath awakes a flower;
To take a child upon my knee,
Or lay what was my friend in dust,
And feel a reverential trust
That He Who made them both to be,—
Or lay what was my friend in dust,
And feel a reverential trust
That He Who made them both to be,—
Who gives us death as well as birth,
And maketh children grow to men,—
Will give us other life again,
More blessed than the life on earth.
And maketh children grow to men,—
Will give us other life again,
More blessed than the life on earth.
30
THEORY AND LIFE.
“Grau, theuerer Freund, ist alle Theorie,
Und grün des Lebens goldner Baum.”
Goethe.
Und grün des Lebens goldner Baum.”
Goethe.
With petty care and grief o'erfraught,
I had been more than half inclined
To wish that I could turn my mind
Into a mere machine of thought.
I had been more than half inclined
To wish that I could turn my mind
Into a mere machine of thought.
But on my knee I took a child,
And pressed the soft warm lips to mine,
And saw the little features shine
With life and pleasure as it smiled.
And pressed the soft warm lips to mine,
And saw the little features shine
With life and pleasure as it smiled.
Then came to mind what Goethe said:
“All theory is sere and cold,
But life is green, with flowers of gold;”
And that unholy wish was fled.
“All theory is sere and cold,
But life is green, with flowers of gold;”
And that unholy wish was fled.
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PILGRIMAGE.
“The Lord, my Shepherd, will provide
For all my wants; He makes me rest
Upon the mountain's grassy breast,
Or by the quiet water's side.”
For all my wants; He makes me rest
Upon the mountain's grassy breast,
Or by the quiet water's side.”
Well said, thou true and thankful heart!
And yet not all can breathe Amen;
For some must roam the desert, when
The downward sunbeams fiercely dart;
And yet not all can breathe Amen;
For some must roam the desert, when
The downward sunbeams fiercely dart;
Must wander in a burning land,
Where shade and verdure are unknown;
Where nought is seen but bare grey stone,
And long brown tracts of weary sand.
Where shade and verdure are unknown;
Where nought is seen but bare grey stone,
And long brown tracts of weary sand.
Yet even there the Lord can spread
A table in the midst of foes;
Out of the rock the fountain flows,
And from the heavens descendeth bread.
A table in the midst of foes;
Out of the rock the fountain flows,
And from the heavens descendeth bread.
And faith can see a vision shine
Of homes of everlasting rest,
Where God will make His people blest,
In vine-clad vales of Palestine.
Of homes of everlasting rest,
Where God will make His people blest,
In vine-clad vales of Palestine.
32
WORKING AND WAITING.
“They also serve who only stand and wait.”
Milton.
Milton.
Father! I know, unless Thou build,
The builder's toil is gone for nought.
Thy presence therefore have I sought,
That Thy design may be fulfilled
The builder's toil is gone for nought.
Thy presence therefore have I sought,
That Thy design may be fulfilled
In me and in my work. To bend
Thy holy will by prayer to mine,
I do not ask; but make me Thine,
O Thou Who art my being's end!
Thy holy will by prayer to mine,
I do not ask; but make me Thine,
O Thou Who art my being's end!
Grant me a patient heart to keep,
Faithful alike through praise and blame,
In victory and defeat the same,
And whether I rejoice or weep;
Faithful alike through praise and blame,
In victory and defeat the same,
And whether I rejoice or weep;
And if Thou wilt, oh grant me this,
That I, Thy child, may ever be
A fellow-labourer with Thee,
And minister to others' bliss;
That I, Thy child, may ever be
A fellow-labourer with Thee,
And minister to others' bliss;
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But if the purpose should be Thine,
That I must only “stand and wait”
With myriad others at Thy gate,
O Father! let me not repine.
That I must only “stand and wait”
With myriad others at Thy gate,
O Father! let me not repine.
So may Thy will through mine be done,
Working or waiting, to the last;
And may I see, when death is past,
The face of Thine eternal Son!
Working or waiting, to the last;
And may I see, when death is past,
The face of Thine eternal Son!
| Sonnets and Other Poems Chiefly Religious | |