 | Ballads and Verses of the Spiritual Life |  |
86
The Lily and the Cross
Girdled with elms, wherein the loud rooks build,
With dreamy hush of its remoteness filled,
Where every sound that breaks the slumb'rous air
Accentuates the peace that lingers there,
One of God's restful grave-set gardens lies,
Where His flowers sleep till He shall bid them rise.
With dreamy hush of its remoteness filled,
Where every sound that breaks the slumb'rous air
Accentuates the peace that lingers there,
One of God's restful grave-set gardens lies,
Where His flowers sleep till He shall bid them rise.
The broken hearts that here have laid in faith
Their dearest dead, themselves have trysted Death,
Have gone themselves out of the light of day,
From scent of rose and fragrance of the may,
And in the spot left lonely for their sakes,
Have made that quietness life never makes.
Their dearest dead, themselves have trysted Death,
Have gone themselves out of the light of day,
From scent of rose and fragrance of the may,
And in the spot left lonely for their sakes,
Have made that quietness life never makes.
But one new grave is there. And he who laid
Under its turf a dear and lovely maid,
Planted, before his bitterest tears were shed,
A lily over the belovèd head:
And ere the lily bloomed he lay beside
That Lily lost who should have been his bride.
Under its turf a dear and lovely maid,
Planted, before his bitterest tears were shed,
A lily over the belovèd head:
And ere the lily bloomed he lay beside
That Lily lost who should have been his bride.
87
The lily that he planted lived and throve
Over the grave of buried human love.
All through the winter's cruel hours and cold,
She lay safe curled beneath the sheltering mould,
Yet ever longed for winter to be done,
That she might break to bud and see the sun.
Over the grave of buried human love.
All through the winter's cruel hours and cold,
She lay safe curled beneath the sheltering mould,
Yet ever longed for winter to be done,
That she might break to bud and see the sun.
Long was the winter, and the tardy spring
She dreamed of so seemed to be tarrying
In the far world of the eternal flowers,
Reluctant to revive this world of ours
Where flowers must die, and spring herself must fade,
That summer's perfect tribute may be paid.
She dreamed of so seemed to be tarrying
In the far world of the eternal flowers,
Reluctant to revive this world of ours
Where flowers must die, and spring herself must fade,
That summer's perfect tribute may be paid.
The birds who built high in the belfry tower.
Had heard the lily sigh for summer's hour,
And at the first low tremulous breath of spring,
A bird flew downwards to her, twittering,
“O Lily! Spring is coming: bud and break
Into your loveliest blossom, for her sake.”
Had heard the lily sigh for summer's hour,
And at the first low tremulous breath of spring,
A bird flew downwards to her, twittering,
“O Lily! Spring is coming: bud and break
Into your loveliest blossom, for her sake.”
Shivering with joy, the waiting lily heard
That long-desired, all but despaired-of word.
She pushed aside the sheltering mould, and thrust
Her sharp leaves upwards through earth's yielding crust,
Did everything a lily could have done
To taste the hour when she should see the sun.
That long-desired, all but despaired-of word.
She pushed aside the sheltering mould, and thrust
Her sharp leaves upwards through earth's yielding crust,
Did everything a lily could have done
To taste the hour when she should see the sun.
Then over all the earth was felt the dear
And gracious life of the re-risen year;
And vows of love were whispered where the wet
Dead leaves lay thick about the violet.
And all the meadow and the orchards gray,
Grew greener and more glorious every day.
And gracious life of the re-risen year;
And vows of love were whispered where the wet
Dead leaves lay thick about the violet.
88
Grew greener and more glorious every day.
The lily grew; at last her drooping head
Hung over her forsaken winter bed;
The sky was blue, the elms were green and fair,
And passionate life pulsated everywhere;
“The sun, the sun,” she cried, “for whom I grow!
Oh, I shall die with longing for it so!”
Hung over her forsaken winter bed;
The sky was blue, the elms were green and fair,
And passionate life pulsated everywhere;
“The sun, the sun,” she cried, “for whom I grow!
Oh, I shall die with longing for it so!”
She could not see the sun! Upon her head
No golden heat and radiance were shed,
A shadow from the cross by which she grew
Fell on her and denied it to her view.
“What good at all is life,” she cried, “to me,
If I the sun I love may never see?”
No golden heat and radiance were shed,
A shadow from the cross by which she grew
Fell on her and denied it to her view.
“What good at all is life,” she cried, “to me,
If I the sun I love may never see?”
But the birds whispered, “Lily, be at rest!
The Master of the garden knoweth best;
He gave the longing, and He is too good
To cheat the hope He planted in your blood:
Trust Him and wait—He will not mock desire
Which He Himself did in your soul inspire.”
The Master of the garden knoweth best;
He gave the longing, and He is too good
To cheat the hope He planted in your blood:
Trust Him and wait—He will not mock desire
Which He Himself did in your soul inspire.”
The lily drooped and sorrowed—yet resigned,
Lived in the cross's shadow, nor repined.
She knew the sun would some day shine for her,
And all her leaves to fuller being stir.
And if it never smiled on her? “Instead
The Master of the garden will,” she said.
Lived in the cross's shadow, nor repined.
She knew the sun would some day shine for her,
And all her leaves to fuller being stir.
And if it never smiled on her? “Instead
The Master of the garden will,” she said.
89
The days passed on, and every day the sun
Through higher heaven arose his course to run.
The lily woke from sleep on Easter day,
And her eyes opened to a tender ray
Shed through green leaves into the waiting cup
Which she so long had patiently held up.
Through higher heaven arose his course to run.
The lily woke from sleep on Easter day,
And her eyes opened to a tender ray
Shed through green leaves into the waiting cup
Which she so long had patiently held up.
And as completion seemed her life to crown,
All she had always longed for now her own—
She saw the Master of the garden pass
Among His flowers, among the graves and grass,
And at His voice she felt a stronger bliss
Than had thrilled through her at the sun's first kiss.
All she had always longed for now her own—
She saw the Master of the garden pass
Among His flowers, among the graves and grass,
And at His voice she felt a stronger bliss
Than had thrilled through her at the sun's first kiss.
“My lily now is strong enough to bear
The sunlight for which all her longings were.
The shadow of the cross was best before,
Which now, grown strong, she needs not any more.
Gaze on the sun, the shadow-time is past,
My patient lily, and be glad at last!”
The sunlight for which all her longings were.
The shadow of the cross was best before,
Which now, grown strong, she needs not any more.
Gaze on the sun, the shadow-time is past,
My patient lily, and be glad at last!”
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