 | The Finding of The Book and Other Poems |  |
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THE CHAMBER PEACE
A summer night that blows,
Fragrant with hay and flowers, on copse and lawn;
A window muffled round and round with rose,
Fronting the flush of dawn.
Fragrant with hay and flowers, on copse and lawn;
A window muffled round and round with rose,
Fronting the flush of dawn.
O pilgrim, well is thee
Till the day break, and till the shadows cease,
Resting the faint heart and the failing knee,
In that sweet chamber, Peace.
Till the day break, and till the shadows cease,
Resting the faint heart and the failing knee,
In that sweet chamber, Peace.
The white moon through the trees
Sails—but thou singest to a heavenly tune,
‘Needeth no sun the land my spirit sees,
Neither by night the moon.’
Sails—but thou singest to a heavenly tune,
‘Needeth no sun the land my spirit sees,
Neither by night the moon.’
Before thine eyes half-closing
Like ink-black plumes their tops the willows shake;
Through them thou seest a little boat reposing
Upon a moonlit lake,
Like ink-black plumes their tops the willows shake;
Through them thou seest a little boat reposing
Upon a moonlit lake,
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And ‘O,’ thou say'st, ‘my soul
Was like those inky plumes the night-winds toss;
But now it hangs as in one silver roll
Over a hidden Cross.
Was like those inky plumes the night-winds toss;
But now it hangs as in one silver roll
Over a hidden Cross.
‘Ever on life's wild swell
My heart went drifting, drifting on remote,
But now within the veil 'tis anchor'd well,
Safe as that little boat.’
My heart went drifting, drifting on remote,
But now within the veil 'tis anchor'd well,
Safe as that little boat.’
Or if the shower that lingers
In fleecy clouds of moonlight-tissued woof
Falls, and the soft rain with a hundred fingers
Taps on the chamber roof,—
In fleecy clouds of moonlight-tissued woof
Falls, and the soft rain with a hundred fingers
Taps on the chamber roof,—
‘Christ,’ the lone pilgrim saith,
‘My Saviour, comes this heart's poor love to win.
Thy locks are fill'd with dew,’ he murmureth,
‘O that Thou wouldst come in!’
‘My Saviour, comes this heart's poor love to win.
Thy locks are fill'd with dew,’ he murmureth,
‘O that Thou wouldst come in!’
So rests the pilgrim ever,
Hearing at solemn intervals a swell,
Music as of a grandly falling river
On Hills Delectable.
Hearing at solemn intervals a swell,
Music as of a grandly falling river
On Hills Delectable.
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So rests he till he knows
The morning redden in the eastern skies,
And fronts the unfolding of heaven's fiery rose,
The beautiful sunrise.
The morning redden in the eastern skies,
And fronts the unfolding of heaven's fiery rose,
The beautiful sunrise.
Another chamber yet—
The curtain is of grass, and closely drawn;
But the pale pilgrim, in its portal set,
Looketh toward the dawn.
The curtain is of grass, and closely drawn;
But the pale pilgrim, in its portal set,
Looketh toward the dawn.
And when the eves are calmest,
Up in the incense-laden aisles of lime,
Some sweet bird meditateth like a psalmist
Such song as suits the time.
Up in the incense-laden aisles of lime,
Some sweet bird meditateth like a psalmist
Such song as suits the time.
So lay the pilgrim down—
Set thou his feet, and face, and closèd eyes,
Where they may meet the golden raying crown
Of Christ's august sunrise.
Set thou his feet, and face, and closèd eyes,
Where they may meet the golden raying crown
Of Christ's august sunrise.
So let him rest, unheard
All faithless mourning; let thy murmur cease;
Translate the grave into a gentler word,
Call it the ‘Chamber Peace.’
All faithless mourning; let thy murmur cease;
Translate the grave into a gentler word,
Call it the ‘Chamber Peace.’
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