 | The Finding of The Book and Other Poems |  |
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THE PREACHER'S MEDITATION
I
Lord of all these thousand spirits,Spirits differing more than faces do;
Knowing all these thousand spirits,
With their thousand histories, through and through;
Knowing all these thousand histories
as their own hearts know not—never knew;—
II
Save me from the mean ambitionvulgar praise of eloquence to win—
From falsetto and self-conscious
Pathos—from declamatory din—
From the tricky pulpit business,
and the silky talking that is sin.
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III
Grant me honestly and strongly,as the strong and honest only can,
To uprear my temple. Ever
when a great cathedral stands for man,
Still, severe, serene, and simple,
depth of thought and science drew the plan.
IV
Save me from false intermixture,faithless patronising of Thy grace;
From the too resplendent colours
that the tender tints of truth efface;
From the insolent scorn unholy
of Thy glorious holy commonplace.
V
Never yet hath earthly chemistsecret of creating gem-stars found;
Still the difficult tint mysterious
lies uncaught—for God takes half the round
Of the ages for creating
The small deathless light call'd diamond.
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VI
Never yet hath earthborn message,chemistry, or stroke of chisel faint,
Lit and glorified our nature,
made the gem without a flaw or taint:
All God's working, and His only,
makes that diamond divine—a saint.
VII
Never bright point but the gospel'swon all colours hidden in heart deeps,
Show'd in perfected reflection
all that nobly flashes, sweetly weeps.
—So they say the sea-tinct sapphire
somewhere in the blood-blush'd ruby sleeps.
VIII
Wherefore not at all I ask Theefor the sharp-cut facets of bright wit—
Not for arrows of the archer
cunning that the inner circle hit—
Not for colour'd fountains rising
by fantastic lamps and glasses lit.
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IX
If Thy Spirit's sword-hilt glittersometimes, as its blade divine I wheel,
Golden thought or gemlike fancy
is not God's own sharpness. Soldier leal
Thinks not of the gold and jewell'd
hilt, but of the keenness of the steel.
X
Grant me, Lord, in all my studies,through all volumes roaming where I list,
Whatsoever spacious distance
rise in ample grandeur through thought's mist,
Whatsoever land I find me,
that of right divine to claim for Christ.
XI
Do men dare to call Thy Scripture—mystic forest, unillumined nook?
If it be so, O my spirit!
then let Christ arise on thee, and look!
With the long lane of His sunlight
shall be cut the forest of His Book.
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XII
And at times give me the tremblinginevitable words that none forget.
Give the living golden moment
when a thousand eyes are lit and wet,
And some pathos makes the silence
palpitate, and grow more silent yet.
XIII
And a thousand hearts togetherare as one love-fused and reconciled.
And a thousand passionate natures
harden'd by the world and sin-defiled,
Look upon me for a moment
with the soft eyes of a little child.
XIV
Give me words like the unveilinglightning that the sky a moment rips—
Words that show the world eternal
over where this world's horizon dips—
Words of more than magic music,
with the name of Jesus on the lips.
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XV
Give me words of Thine to utterthat shall open the lock'd heart like keys,—
Words that, like Thine own sweet teaching,
shall be medicínal for disease,—
Words like a revolving lanthorn
for the ships in darkness—give me these.
XVI
In the Sunday summer eveningtwo lights are there, in the church, unlike.
One the cool sweet dying sunshine;
one the gas-jets' fierce light-beaded spike.
With the first my speech be gifted—
light to touch and tremble, not to strike.
XVII
So for all these thousand spirits,differing more than any faces do,
Christ through me may have some message
that shall be at once both old and new,
And my sinful human brethren
through my sinful lips learn something true.
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