Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

But dreams are vague, and visions dim,
And e'en the heavenly sounds, that flow
From holiest lips of Seraphim,
To sinful hearts seem faint and low;
And types—we scarce know what they mean,
And little heed we sage or seer,
Compared with what our eyes have seen,—
Compared with what our ears may hear.

III

For God's own Son, to whom is given
Dominion o'er all worlds that are,—
Whose power upholds both Earth and Heaven,—
Who guides and governs sun and star,—
In whose refulgent person shine
His Father's lineaments express,—
Hath come on Earth, through love divine
To purge our human sinfulness.

IV

And through the deeds His love hath done,
—Though heir himself of Heaven—hath He
A throne above the angels won,
Beside the Eternal Majesty.
And they—the beautiful—the bright,
Who ride upon the lightning's flame,
And guide at will the whirlwind's might,
Fall down and worship at his Name.

V

O Lord! eternal is thy throne—
Thee Heaven's immortal myriads bless;

And men, and saints, and angels own
The sceptre of thy righteousness.
And, ere this frame was yet begun,
Of earth and ocean, sky and sea,
God's word went forth, “Thou art my Son,—
This day have I begotten thee!”

VI

They, as a garment, shall wax old—
Earth, air, and ocean, sun and sky,—
Till, like a vesture, shalt thou fold
Creation up, and cast it by.
But thou shalt still the same remain,
Triumphant over death and hell,—
Secure from grief, remote from pain,
Eternal and unchangeable.

FROM THE GOSPEL.

I

In the beginning there was God alone:
His immaterial glory fill'd all space,
Its ancient and illimitable throne:—
Substance was none;—no colour, form, or place;
Not one of all night's countless orbs had shone
As yet upon her still and rayless face;
No sound had pierced the silence lone and deep,
Telling of life, which still in Time's vast womb did sleep.

II

Then was the Word with God—the Word was God;
Co-equal—co-eternal—co-divine,
Myriads of ages ere Earth's soil was trod
By man or seraph,—ere a sun did shine,

Impregnating with heat her teeming sod,
And filling with rich ore the virgin mine—
Even then, in glory such as heart ne'er felt,
Tongue spake, or thought conceived, the Son and Father dwelt.

III

Earth was created:—the great fiat pass'd,
‘Let there be light:’—that fiat spake the Word—
Himself the light on each man's spirit cast;
And when into our nostrils life was pour'd,
He was that life;—yet when He came at last
To his own world—its Maker and its Lord,—
That world received him not, and he was fain
Over a few poor, faithful, scatter'd hearts to reign.

IV

Yet, to as many as received him, He
Gave power, e'en then, to be the sons of God;
Not through the pride of mortal ancestry—
Not for that they Earth's sacred places trode—
Not for that men had will'd it so to be—
But that His grace, who quickeneth stone and clod,
Made them partakers of a second birth,
And denizens of Heaven, while yet they dwelt on Earth.

V

Thus was the Word made flesh, and with us dwelt,
Here sojourning among the sons of men,—
And all our joys and all our sorrows felt,
Revealing daily to our mortal ken
The glory of his Father,—so to melt
Our stubborn hearts, and win them home again
E'en to Himself;—for us he felt such ruth—
He, God's own image, full of heavenly grace and truth!