 | Legends of the Morrow |  |
74
NEW SOULS.
I
The world was weary of the way:All saw the bloom of youth pass by
And trembled for the coming day—
The soul's long-told eternity.
Men dragged their limbs from pain to pain
And, dying, never rose again.
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II
All had grown weary of old hope;Only a present hour came round:
Within the future's viewless scope
As yet no soul had broken ground:
'Twas a lapsed heaven; no further stir;
And helpless was the sepulchre.
III
All pulses heaved with new desire;There was a troubling of all souls;
As when above earth's secret fire
Some giddy, high-domed mountain rolls.
Was it an hour with bloodshed fraught,
Or came the war of thought with thought?
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IV
O'er many a soul deep furrows cracked;The soil was ripe for wheat or weed,
And not the cunning hand was lacked
To sow it with prolific seed.
A grain gives forth a field of tares;
So, too, the tree of knowledge bears.
V
The burr that only drops a grainAmid its native thistles, goes
Lap-full of seed o'er hill and plain,—
The cornfield, mead, and vineyard sows:
Even for the graves it has a thread
That yields a harvest to the dead.
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VI
A voice ascends in accents clearOf one who has “New Souls” to sell.
'Tis music to the startled ear;
Like ringings of a parish bell.
He shambles on till every home
Echoes the cry, “No World to Come!”
VII
So travels he from land to land,No baggage save an empty sack,
Which, grasping in his bony hand,
He slings across his bended back;
And mending not his easy pace
Scatters “New Souls,” like tracts of grace.
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VIII
He enters at the convent gateWhere the veiled nuns their virtue hide;
His words, “New Souls,” “No future state,”
Into their hearts like passion slide.
They think, and to each other sigh—
“Is Heaven then, too, sterility?”
IX
His aspect on their memory dwells;His sayings leave a load of care,
That through their vespers heavenward wells
And hangs about them in the air;
As though their eyes for once had seen,
They listen, still, where he had been.
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X
The wider spread his welcome wordsIn that he shuns not timid eyes:
Their earnest burden well accords
With the sad truth, that scripture lies:
New Souls,—the undiscovered creed,—
In this shall pious nations bleed.
XI
He lags not at the cottage door,But leaves the stirring cry in trust:
“New Souls;” 'tis incense to the poor;
They breathe it while they turn to dust.
The cry seems food to famished bones;
As though 'twere bread instead of stones.
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XII
New Souls to sell—it sounds divine;To cast out old from sluggish brain
And drive them to the herd of swine!
The last hope left to human gain:
All pass their days in sweat and toil;
Who sows the seed reaps not the soil.
XIII
Some turn and in their wrath declareThe scriptures true, whose lessons tell
That Heaven shall be the poor man's share
And that the rich inherit Hell.
New Souls! a voice of pity cries,
And in the words all promise lies.
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XIV
Another says: My homely dameShall rise in glory from the pit.
Her soul was old but without shame:
I saw her hopeful spirit flit—
If ever soul hath broke the sward
She's in the bosom of her Lord!
XV
One rages, crying: Shall the squireWhose soul departed yesterday,
Not burn in everlasting fire?
His soul is only dead, you say?
This hour, I swear, he burns in Hell.
The teacher cries, “New Souls to sell!”
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XVI
His catch-cry the great city hears;“New Souls,” from mouth to mouth has spread:
“No world to come!” on hoarding stares;
'Tis posted up in letters red,
That priests lay by their uniform,
Uneasy at the gathering storm.
XVII
The man who first the catch-cry gaveUsed modest whispers, scarce aloud:
His hot disciples, strong and brave,
Shout out, “New Souls!” before the crowd:
Recalling him whose blood was shed,
To the re-burial of the Dead.
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XVIII
The teacher wore a simple sack,But his disciples beard the throng
With doctor's gown upon their back.
Their tones are rich, their reasons strong;
And they all creeds save one deny,—
No demon and no deity.
XIX
The flame of metaphysics playsThrough bible, testament, and prayer;
And in the light of latter days
The sky explodes; no Heaven is there;
Strange fire, as fierce as fire of Hell,
Envelops God's mock Citadel.
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XX
That cry, “New Souls!” sweet women make:They reason not but feel aright;
And cling to church for comfort's sake,
To see the truth by candlelight:
So potent is the waxen spell,
They almost think there is a hell.
XXI
O life the shoal, O time the waste!The cry has all its early zest;
Books breathe it still, though read in haste:
God is the staple of their jest,—
For when old thrones are tumbled down
Man mocks the last that wears the crown.
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XXII
There yet are balanced minds that see,Perhaps here and there, some cunning hand;
But, who may the life-builder be
'Twas not for them to understand:
Some say, he ill-administers
His laws; and judgment long defers.
XXIII
The harvest moon comes round in turn;Into their barns men gather tares,
And bundle up the wheat to burn:
The wisdom of the latter years.
But all is well; so man hath willed
That scripture may not be fulfilled.
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XXIV
The priests whose duty is to waitWhen the torch-bearers burn the bread,
Rest on their glebes and hybernate
With open ears but seeming dead,
Or for the truth by twilight plead
Like shadows of a broken creed.
XXV
They hold their dogmas lest Heaven loseThe vested right in every tenth,
The sweet in-flowing Easter-dues:
Of such is an Almighty's strength
Whose plans in endless time were laid,
Though in six days all things he made.
87
XXVI
Mortals, say they, work double time;Then shall not He, through Nature's hand,
With fossil-bone, and shells and lime,
In six days stratify the land?
Old as this little earth may look,
'Tis but a bible picture-book.
XXVII
God fell; with him that devil fellWho scared the ages in our rear.
Heaven was a power, a dread was Hell:
They had their day—a grand career,
But greater epochs, since set in,
Released the suffering virtue, Sin.
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XXVIII
The farewell cry is heard afar;New Souls! so true, so passing mild,
It comes upon us without jar:—
The voice of one who never smiled,—
Yet has a shudder of the rack
For those who hold the beaten track.
XXIX
That kindly voice, out-spoken, plain,—Rich in emotion of desire;—
Who heard, still pine to hear again,
With longings of a smouldering fire.
New souls for old, thoughts ever new,
That all the deeds of time undo.
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XXX
The hollow of the cuckoo's throatIs in all hearts as he recedes;
All seem to echo the far note,
And linger o'er his timely deeds;
His second coming is at hand;
For well he loves this barren strand.
XXXI
New Souls! they spread to overflow;The law proclaims that thought is free:
Be it a thing of mirth or woe,—
Lopped down is the forbidden tree.
New Souls! not stale shall be that cry
To man's remote posterity.
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XXXII
Where hath he gone who gave it breath?To him our souls we crucify
Down to the hopeless hour of death:
All other names do we deny.
Never did he man's longings spurn;
With his blest cry will he return.
XXXIII
He is the proud, the noble oneWho on his shoulders bore a sack;
His work has flourished, he is gone
Where brimstone mountains bar his track;
Extinct volcanoes of a Hell
Whereof doth scripture-fable tell.
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