The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
 | VII. |
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DEATH AND LOVE
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| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
247
DEATH AND LOVE
We rule the blue-green waves that round our shores
For ever surge. In vain the tempest roars;
The sea yields, and the land:
But death and love evade our conquering will.
We strive to master them. They cheat us still
With unique sleight of hand.
For ever surge. In vain the tempest roars;
The sea yields, and the land:
But death and love evade our conquering will.
We strive to master them. They cheat us still
With unique sleight of hand.
The humblest cottage-home, whose garden gleams
With scented English blossoms, has its dreams
Of love and death, alas!
Beside our hamlets ever stands the church,
And white tombs near it—under elm or birch,
Nestling in dark-green grass.
With scented English blossoms, has its dreams
Of love and death, alas!
Beside our hamlets ever stands the church,
And white tombs near it—under elm or birch,
Nestling in dark-green grass.
The kingliest race is subject unto death.
The lordliest heart oft shudders at the wreath
That it perforce must wear
One day,—the wreath of agony, when those
For whom life's sun, long ere our sunrise, rose
Pass, and our souls despair.
The lordliest heart oft shudders at the wreath
That it perforce must wear
248
For whom life's sun, long ere our sunrise, rose
Pass, and our souls despair.
No stroke of mortal sword, or shock of spear,
Can force our English-bred tough hearts to fear;
But one thing even we
Dread,—that shrill trumpet of malignant doom
Which summons our belovéd to the tomb
With fiendish constancy.
Can force our English-bred tough hearts to fear;
But one thing even we
Dread,—that shrill trumpet of malignant doom
Which summons our belovéd to the tomb
With fiendish constancy.
To see them pass, and helplessly to stand
By their bed-sides while with white trembling hand
They grasp death's hand and go,
This pierces to the heart. No mastering force
Can hold the blood from faltering in its course,
From freezing in its flow,
By their bed-sides while with white trembling hand
They grasp death's hand and go,
This pierces to the heart. No mastering force
Can hold the blood from faltering in its course,
From freezing in its flow,
When at the touch of death lo! love is gone,
And we are left unalterably alone.
Death drives us to despair,
And when despair lifts up wild anguished eyes
To the grim heights of waste unlighted skies,
Behold, a God is there!
And we are left unalterably alone.
Death drives us to despair,
And when despair lifts up wild anguished eyes
To the grim heights of waste unlighted skies,
Behold, a God is there!
249
Christ conquers race on race, and heart on heart,
Because he speaks a message not of Art
And not of flowers and trees,
And not the message of the lover's rose,
And not the word of woman's mouth that glows
Red-ripe, nor of the seas,—
Because he speaks a message not of Art
And not of flowers and trees,
And not the message of the lover's rose,
And not the word of woman's mouth that glows
Red-ripe, nor of the seas,—
No, not the thunder's or the lightning's word,
Nor voice as of the solemn mountains stirred
By storms that never cease;
When earth has not one accent left of cheer
At last Christ's one word wins the human ear,
And that one word is “Peace.”
Nor voice as of the solemn mountains stirred
By storms that never cease;
When earth has not one accent left of cheer
At last Christ's one word wins the human ear,
And that one word is “Peace.”
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |