The Year of the World A Philosophical Poem on "Redemption from The Fall". By William B. Scott |
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 | The Year of the World |  |
III.
Here stood he still, the Ganges ebbed and flowed
Up to his feet, and as he gazed, the river,—
The river and the air articulate thoughts
Uttered thus to him.
Up to his feet, and as he gazed, the river,—
The river and the air articulate thoughts
Uttered thus to him.
“Give reverence, O man, to mystery,
Keep your soul patient, and with closed eye hear.
Know that the Good is in all things, the whole
Being by him pervaded and upheld.
He is the will, the thwarting circumstance,
The two opposing forces equal both—
Birth, Death, are one. Think not the Lotus flower
Or tulip is more honored than the grass,
The bindwind, or the thistle. He who kneels
To Cama, kneeleth unto me; the maid
Who sings to Ganga sings to me; I am
Wisdom unto the wise, and cunning lore
Unto the subtle. He who knows his soul,
And from thence looketh unto mine; who sees
All underneath the moon regardlessly,
Living on silent, as a shaded lamp
Burns with steady flame:—he sure shall find me—
He findeth wisdom, greatness, happiness.
Keep your soul patient, and with closed eye hear.
Know that the Good is in all things, the whole
Being by him pervaded and upheld.
He is the will, the thwarting circumstance,
The two opposing forces equal both—
Birth, Death, are one. Think not the Lotus flower
Or tulip is more honored than the grass,
The bindwind, or the thistle. He who kneels
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Who sings to Ganga sings to me; I am
Wisdom unto the wise, and cunning lore
Unto the subtle. He who knows his soul,
And from thence looketh unto mine; who sees
All underneath the moon regardlessly,
Living on silent, as a shaded lamp
Burns with steady flame:—he sure shall find me—
He findeth wisdom, greatness, happiness.
“Know, further, the Great One delighteth not
In him who works, and strives, and is against
The nature of the present. Not the less
Am I the gladness of the conqueror—
And the despair of impotence that fails.
I am the ultimate, the tendency
Of all things to their nature, which is mine.
Put round thee garments of rich softness, hang
Fine gold about thine ancles, hands, and ears,
Set the rich ruby and rare diamond
Upon thy brow.—I made them, I also
Made them be sought by thee; thou lack'st them not?
Then throw them whence they came, and leave with them
The wish to be aught else than nature forms.
In him who works, and strives, and is against
The nature of the present. Not the less
Am I the gladness of the conqueror—
And the despair of impotence that fails.
I am the ultimate, the tendency
Of all things to their nature, which is mine.
Put round thee garments of rich softness, hang
Fine gold about thine ancles, hands, and ears,
Set the rich ruby and rare diamond
Upon thy brow.—I made them, I also
Made them be sought by thee; thou lack'st them not?
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The wish to be aught else than nature forms.
“Know that the great Good in the age called First,
Beheld a world of mortals, 'mong whom none
Enquired for Truth, because no falsehood was:
Nature was truth: man held whate'er he wished:
No will was thwarted, and no deed was termed,
Good, Evil. In much wisdom is much grief.
He who increases knowledge sorrow also
Takes with it, till he rises unto me,
Knowing that I am in all, still the same:
Knowing that I am Peace in the contented.
I, Great, revealed unto the Seer, how man
Had wandered, and he gave a name and form
To my communings and he called it Veda.
To him who understands it is great gain—
Who understandeth not, to him the Sign
And ritual is authority and guide
A living and expiring confidence.”
The voice ceased, and the laborer strove no more.
Songs swoon amidst the roses of Cashmere,
India's dark-browed daughters as they weave
The leaves of marigolds with pinky hands,
Hymn their own Cama. Scarcely may his ear
Note the rich sound—and scarce his eyes perceive.
A deep and lasting slumber falls on him:
He spreads his limbs so wondrous in their grace
Upon the lulled shore for a lasting sleep.
The sun sinks down and wakes again to breathe
Vigor into the year: he slumbers on:
His regular breathing evermore exhales
Into the air, but his wild eye is closed,
And his arm listless drops upon the sand
Whose shelled things crawl around it in the cold.
Beheld a world of mortals, 'mong whom none
Enquired for Truth, because no falsehood was:
Nature was truth: man held whate'er he wished:
No will was thwarted, and no deed was termed,
Good, Evil. In much wisdom is much grief.
He who increases knowledge sorrow also
Takes with it, till he rises unto me,
Knowing that I am in all, still the same:
Knowing that I am Peace in the contented.
I, Great, revealed unto the Seer, how man
Had wandered, and he gave a name and form
To my communings and he called it Veda.
To him who understands it is great gain—
Who understandeth not, to him the Sign
And ritual is authority and guide
A living and expiring confidence.”
42
Songs swoon amidst the roses of Cashmere,
India's dark-browed daughters as they weave
The leaves of marigolds with pinky hands,
Hymn their own Cama. Scarcely may his ear
Note the rich sound—and scarce his eyes perceive.
A deep and lasting slumber falls on him:
He spreads his limbs so wondrous in their grace
Upon the lulled shore for a lasting sleep.
The sun sinks down and wakes again to breathe
Vigor into the year: he slumbers on:
His regular breathing evermore exhales
Into the air, but his wild eye is closed,
And his arm listless drops upon the sand
Whose shelled things crawl around it in the cold.
| The Year of the World | |