The Poetical Works of George Barlow :: :: University of Virginia Library

Yea, for a season thou our queen art gracious
And then the vision grows
Dimmer and more dim, and thy woodlands spacious
Made sweet with breath of rose

Fade slowly, and thy sacred golden portal
Is closed and all dreams sleep,
And we who in thy presence were immortal
Are chained in darkness deep.

Grant us thine help unfailing and redeeming;
Support us through the night;
Shine thou upon us with thy soft eyes dreaming,
And with thy bosom bright.

Not crowns we ask in heaven or jewels precious,
Not palaces of pearl;
Not golden robes, rewards divine and specious,—
But where thy wild waves curl

Along wild shores we seek thee and would win thee,
O queen of all things sweet;
Having sure part and share eternal in thee,—
Thy bosom for retreat,—

Thy mighty hands for saviours and for healers,
Thy lips for crown and light,
Thy voice to soothe us, strong unwearied kneelers
Before thine altar white.

The heavenly crowns might fade,—but thou eternal
O Beauty, bride and queen,
Not crowned with roses fading and diurnal
In the highest skies art seen.

Thou art the God of all the yearning ages,
Thou gatherest them to rest,—
Yea every soul that weeps and each that rages,
Within thy perfect breast.

Thou only art God,—And all the years adore thee
Crying, “Holy, O our sweet!”
The undying angel-hosts fall low before thee
And kiss thy queenly feet.

To every rose thou art the sweet white sister,
To every flower the bloom,—
No lily is white but thou more white hast kissed her
And lent her heart-perfume.

And we who are ofttimes weary and heart-broken
Lift up our souls to thee!
Though all men scorn us, yet we have for token
Thy smile and thy blue sea.

Thy waves we have and all thy winds and seasons
Of snow and rain and sun:
Clothed round about with these we face man's treasons,
Till all our race is run.

Thou touchest us,—and all the tumult ceases
And we are rocked to rest;
Our foemen's swords are snapped in helpless pieces,
Shorn is their every crest.

Yea, though the day be long and full of labour,
At even give us light;
Though pain to weariness be closest neighbour,
And friends and lovers smite,

Yet grant us silent hope and endless patience;
Be with us in the gloom:
More than reward for speechless tribulations
Is one breath of thy bloom—

One sound upon the waves of thy soft laughter,
One vision of thy feet
Upon the enraptured shore,—though death leapt after
That deathless vision sweet.

Ours be the thorns and thine the flowers,—but love us,—
Forsake us not, O queen;
Bend in thine holy midnight sky above us
And in thy white clouds' sheen;

And in the murmur and rush of many waters
When the autumn breezes smite
The seas, speak thou to thy sad sons and daughters
Who struggle towards thy light.

And strengthen us that nought may move or turn us
From Art's one holy way;
Though cold nights chill and blazing noontides burn us
And dark foes seek to sway:

Yea, though we stand forlorn of mortal aiding,
Yet are we not forlorn
Nor wholly left to man's malign upbraiding
And senseless ceaseless scorn,

For though alone we are not alone when splendid
Thou shatterest with thy might
The darkness round us like tomb-sides extended,
And lo! the dark is light:

And lo! the music of thy coming lingers
Like dawn upon the seas,
And at the touching of thy tremulous fingers
Thy harp sounds through the breeze;

And we are saved, and all our hearts are gladdened
Through which the world's spears sprang,—
We who were mocked and disbelieved and maddened,
Though still we fought and sang.

But now more heavenlike than the heaven of heaven
Wherein God sits with thee
Thou springest forth, with breath more sweet than even
In summer o'er the sea,

And power as God's, O Beauty, and dominion
Within thy sacred hands;
And sleep and rest at touching of thy pinion
Fall soft o'er seas and lands;

And o'er us too falls in the old sweet fashion
A measureless soft dream
Wherethrough, intense as God's, divine with passion,
Thine eyes, most fiery, gleam.