Sun, moon and stars of ancient prime,And of to-day, in confluence chimeThe universal One sublime;Pouring these floods of deep surcease,—In universal pain, release;In universal travail, peace.The strong right arm is here laid bareIn strife, by which He doth declareAnother shall not with Him share.Forces of universal lawWhich hither these vast waters drawSend through my soul His tides of awe;While universal radiance charmsAnd beckons to His winsome armsTo soothe my timid soul's alarms.Of joy, of grief He does not rob,—The light with intermittent throbFalls on the waters glad—a-sob.
Sun, moon and stars of ancient prime,And of to-day, in confluence chimeThe universal One sublime;Pouring these floods of deep surcease,—In universal pain, release;In universal travail, peace.The strong right arm is here laid bareIn strife, by which He doth declareAnother shall not with Him share.Forces of universal lawWhich hither these vast waters drawSend through my soul His tides of awe;While universal radiance charmsAnd beckons to His winsome armsTo soothe my timid soul's alarms.Of joy, of grief He does not rob,—The light with intermittent throbFalls on the waters glad—a-sob.
Sun, moon and stars of ancient prime,And of to-day, in confluence chimeThe universal One sublime;
Pouring these floods of deep surcease,—In universal pain, release;In universal travail, peace.
The strong right arm is here laid bareIn strife, by which He doth declareAnother shall not with Him share.
Forces of universal lawWhich hither these vast waters drawSend through my soul His tides of awe;
While universal radiance charmsAnd beckons to His winsome armsTo soothe my timid soul's alarms.
Of joy, of grief He does not rob,—The light with intermittent throbFalls on the waters glad—a-sob.
III.
Here He and I are conscious eachOf each—a Deep, a waiting beach!A shell, a Sea that doth beseech!How all unswift my eyes to seeThe universal God in Thee,Who walked the waves of Galilee!Give, freely give—Thou dost not dole!Pour chrismal balm upon my soul!Anoint me from Thy golden bowl!
Here He and I are conscious eachOf each—a Deep, a waiting beach!A shell, a Sea that doth beseech!How all unswift my eyes to seeThe universal God in Thee,Who walked the waves of Galilee!Give, freely give—Thou dost not dole!Pour chrismal balm upon my soul!Anoint me from Thy golden bowl!
Here He and I are conscious eachOf each—a Deep, a waiting beach!A shell, a Sea that doth beseech!
How all unswift my eyes to seeThe universal God in Thee,Who walked the waves of Galilee!
Give, freely give—Thou dost not dole!Pour chrismal balm upon my soul!Anoint me from Thy golden bowl!
IV.
In travail, pain, grief, joy, the waveSlumbers nor sleeps the earth to save—This word the blissful God He gave,Ere yesterday in PalestineLove's flagon poured the ruddy wine,Life of the universal Vine.
In travail, pain, grief, joy, the waveSlumbers nor sleeps the earth to save—This word the blissful God He gave,Ere yesterday in PalestineLove's flagon poured the ruddy wine,Life of the universal Vine.
In travail, pain, grief, joy, the waveSlumbers nor sleeps the earth to save—This word the blissful God He gave,
Ere yesterday in PalestineLove's flagon poured the ruddy wine,Life of the universal Vine.
V.
The tameless tides, unresting, seethe;I rest me, for He works beneath;Peace! peace! the toiling waters breathe.Peace, healing peace, in murmuring main,In brooding sky fanned by lone crane!The sunbeams bicker in the Lane—Peace on the lighter's falling sail!Peace on the ships that breast the gale!And peace in human hearts that fail!
The tameless tides, unresting, seethe;I rest me, for He works beneath;Peace! peace! the toiling waters breathe.Peace, healing peace, in murmuring main,In brooding sky fanned by lone crane!The sunbeams bicker in the Lane—Peace on the lighter's falling sail!Peace on the ships that breast the gale!And peace in human hearts that fail!
The tameless tides, unresting, seethe;I rest me, for He works beneath;Peace! peace! the toiling waters breathe.
Peace, healing peace, in murmuring main,In brooding sky fanned by lone crane!The sunbeams bicker in the Lane—
Peace on the lighter's falling sail!Peace on the ships that breast the gale!And peace in human hearts that fail!
Fair hero, brave hero of sea—The sea in its darkness of wrath!I run down the breaker with thee,I mount the next in its path.Our hearts beat together, charmed one,Lift their wings as fearless as free,Ride the gloom as if 'twere the sunGold-bridled for you and for me.Summer rain, the cold drifting sleetThat whistles as spiteful as hail!A roadstead, the billows that fleetUnder the black lash of the gale!We laugh at their seething, their roar,Draw our breath full in their face;We have wings, we know we can soar,—Your secret and mine in embrace!(Wings, wings, the soul of our life!Outspread they victory tell,—Upliftings amid gulfs of strife,Wafts of heaven that keep us from hell!)Brave hero, winged hero of sea—The sea with black tempest in breast,Here we mount on the breakers, free,Soon to soar into calm, into rest!
Fair hero, brave hero of sea—The sea in its darkness of wrath!I run down the breaker with thee,I mount the next in its path.Our hearts beat together, charmed one,Lift their wings as fearless as free,Ride the gloom as if 'twere the sunGold-bridled for you and for me.Summer rain, the cold drifting sleetThat whistles as spiteful as hail!A roadstead, the billows that fleetUnder the black lash of the gale!We laugh at their seething, their roar,Draw our breath full in their face;We have wings, we know we can soar,—Your secret and mine in embrace!(Wings, wings, the soul of our life!Outspread they victory tell,—Upliftings amid gulfs of strife,Wafts of heaven that keep us from hell!)Brave hero, winged hero of sea—The sea with black tempest in breast,Here we mount on the breakers, free,Soon to soar into calm, into rest!
Fair hero, brave hero of sea—The sea in its darkness of wrath!I run down the breaker with thee,I mount the next in its path.
Our hearts beat together, charmed one,Lift their wings as fearless as free,Ride the gloom as if 'twere the sunGold-bridled for you and for me.
Summer rain, the cold drifting sleetThat whistles as spiteful as hail!A roadstead, the billows that fleetUnder the black lash of the gale!
We laugh at their seething, their roar,Draw our breath full in their face;We have wings, we know we can soar,—Your secret and mine in embrace!
(Wings, wings, the soul of our life!Outspread they victory tell,—Upliftings amid gulfs of strife,Wafts of heaven that keep us from hell!)
Brave hero, winged hero of sea—The sea with black tempest in breast,Here we mount on the breakers, free,Soon to soar into calm, into rest!
I.
The all-devouring sea! I said,—While looking on the green- and red-Ribbed rocks a-tilt that flank Sharp's Head:The diary of the rain cloud drivenTo yield again its spoil by heaven,The west wind serving the replevin—Notes of the ocean's teeming floor,The carven shell, the seaweed's spore,And ripple-marks of tidal shore—Vast tablets of the world of eld,A mighty Bodleian unspelled,By ravine into dust compelled!The hills are fated to their fall.Upon the great, upon the small,Oblivion drops her raven pall.
The all-devouring sea! I said,—While looking on the green- and red-Ribbed rocks a-tilt that flank Sharp's Head:The diary of the rain cloud drivenTo yield again its spoil by heaven,The west wind serving the replevin—Notes of the ocean's teeming floor,The carven shell, the seaweed's spore,And ripple-marks of tidal shore—Vast tablets of the world of eld,A mighty Bodleian unspelled,By ravine into dust compelled!The hills are fated to their fall.Upon the great, upon the small,Oblivion drops her raven pall.
The all-devouring sea! I said,—While looking on the green- and red-Ribbed rocks a-tilt that flank Sharp's Head:
The diary of the rain cloud drivenTo yield again its spoil by heaven,The west wind serving the replevin—
Notes of the ocean's teeming floor,The carven shell, the seaweed's spore,And ripple-marks of tidal shore—
Vast tablets of the world of eld,A mighty Bodleian unspelled,By ravine into dust compelled!
The hills are fated to their fall.Upon the great, upon the small,Oblivion drops her raven pall.
II.
And then I thought: The form and massMay baffle ken of eye and glass,And yet the record may not pass.Tittle and jot, where all seems nil,A finer form in form may stillWait touch of that which doth fulfil.
And then I thought: The form and massMay baffle ken of eye and glass,And yet the record may not pass.Tittle and jot, where all seems nil,A finer form in form may stillWait touch of that which doth fulfil.
And then I thought: The form and massMay baffle ken of eye and glass,And yet the record may not pass.
Tittle and jot, where all seems nil,A finer form in form may stillWait touch of that which doth fulfil.
III.
The liquid air, unseen, unheard,Writes in an everlasting wordThe wing-beats of the hasting bird.The sweet light leaves, and bears abroad,A picture of the wide realms trodWith wingëd feet gold sandal-shod;Etching in truth and beauty's grace,Beyond compare of antique vase,On fronting hills the other's face.Nor shoreless deeps of space debarBlazon on earth of records far,In greening orb or burning star.
The liquid air, unseen, unheard,Writes in an everlasting wordThe wing-beats of the hasting bird.The sweet light leaves, and bears abroad,A picture of the wide realms trodWith wingëd feet gold sandal-shod;Etching in truth and beauty's grace,Beyond compare of antique vase,On fronting hills the other's face.Nor shoreless deeps of space debarBlazon on earth of records far,In greening orb or burning star.
The liquid air, unseen, unheard,Writes in an everlasting wordThe wing-beats of the hasting bird.
The sweet light leaves, and bears abroad,A picture of the wide realms trodWith wingëd feet gold sandal-shod;
Etching in truth and beauty's grace,Beyond compare of antique vase,On fronting hills the other's face.
Nor shoreless deeps of space debarBlazon on earth of records far,In greening orb or burning star.
IV.
I said: Coined for exchange in martOf purblind men with leaden heart,This word Oblivion on life's chart!Deft science' balance now prevails—This simulacrum in the scales,The verdict to the counter nails.
I said: Coined for exchange in martOf purblind men with leaden heart,This word Oblivion on life's chart!Deft science' balance now prevails—This simulacrum in the scales,The verdict to the counter nails.
I said: Coined for exchange in martOf purblind men with leaden heart,This word Oblivion on life's chart!
Deft science' balance now prevails—This simulacrum in the scales,The verdict to the counter nails.
V.
And then, distraught by onward sweepOf meditation long and deep,I sought me out a place to weep—O soul, may not thy leaves, I mused,Stirred by death's shock through all diffused,Reveal thy story unconfused,Clear traced by thought's all-subtle beam—A quickened palimpsest agleam,Re-orient out of dusk and dream!
And then, distraught by onward sweepOf meditation long and deep,I sought me out a place to weep—O soul, may not thy leaves, I mused,Stirred by death's shock through all diffused,Reveal thy story unconfused,Clear traced by thought's all-subtle beam—A quickened palimpsest agleam,Re-orient out of dusk and dream!
And then, distraught by onward sweepOf meditation long and deep,I sought me out a place to weep—
O soul, may not thy leaves, I mused,Stirred by death's shock through all diffused,Reveal thy story unconfused,
Clear traced by thought's all-subtle beam—A quickened palimpsest agleam,Re-orient out of dusk and dream!
(For dramatic orchestration.)
I.
Fleecy white waters,Shorn by the tempest,Wrathful and doomfulRolling to land!Naked and lustrous,Fiercest of smiters,Straight for the stern cliffs,Iron to steel!Shock unto shock calls,Boom answers boom,Roars the huge tide-loom,Thunder and storm!Torn are the vast websWoven of tumult,Flung to the cloud-rack,Tatters of sound!
Fleecy white waters,Shorn by the tempest,Wrathful and doomfulRolling to land!Naked and lustrous,Fiercest of smiters,Straight for the stern cliffs,Iron to steel!Shock unto shock calls,Boom answers boom,Roars the huge tide-loom,Thunder and storm!Torn are the vast websWoven of tumult,Flung to the cloud-rack,Tatters of sound!
Fleecy white waters,Shorn by the tempest,Wrathful and doomfulRolling to land!
Naked and lustrous,Fiercest of smiters,Straight for the stern cliffs,Iron to steel!
Shock unto shock calls,Boom answers boom,Roars the huge tide-loom,Thunder and storm!
Torn are the vast websWoven of tumult,Flung to the cloud-rack,Tatters of sound!
II.
The glistening waters againAre marching loyal and trueUnder the hollow sky,—A hundred million of menThrobbing as fiery dewUnder the morning's eye!List to the repetend note,Multiplex tone of the sea,Refrain of grief, of mirth,On violet air afloatFar borne to mountain and lea,To the home of its birth.List as its music unbraids:—Rivulets pour from the hill,Winds wash the lips o' the trees,The brook by the rocky gladesBrattles its way to the millThrough fields adream with bees.Forests of pine and of firPlain as their dark plumes are fretBy the free-coursing winds;Alder and golden birch stirTo notes too sweet to forget,Sung by brook as it winds.Hark!The lone laugh of the aukAs 'twere a disprisoned soul comeFrom out the shining foams!And the loon's "ha! ha!" and mock'Mid the torn surf's booming drum,Or hushed tide's star-sprent domes!The ringdove coos in the grove,The cataract's thunders jar,Rapids swirl white and hiss;Peoples in temples of loveEcho their anthems afar,Diapasons of bliss.Great flux of the world, O sea,Blood of earth's wild pulsing veinsBeating to orbs afar,Your life and mine cannot beUnlinked with God's joys and painsHere or in throbbing star!List as its music unbraids,List to the much-sounding sea,List to the repetend note,Multiplex tone of the sea,—Refrain of grief, of mirth,On violet air afloatFar borne to mountain and lea,To the home of its birth.
The glistening waters againAre marching loyal and trueUnder the hollow sky,—A hundred million of menThrobbing as fiery dewUnder the morning's eye!List to the repetend note,Multiplex tone of the sea,Refrain of grief, of mirth,On violet air afloatFar borne to mountain and lea,To the home of its birth.List as its music unbraids:—Rivulets pour from the hill,Winds wash the lips o' the trees,The brook by the rocky gladesBrattles its way to the millThrough fields adream with bees.Forests of pine and of firPlain as their dark plumes are fretBy the free-coursing winds;Alder and golden birch stirTo notes too sweet to forget,Sung by brook as it winds.Hark!The lone laugh of the aukAs 'twere a disprisoned soul comeFrom out the shining foams!And the loon's "ha! ha!" and mock'Mid the torn surf's booming drum,Or hushed tide's star-sprent domes!The ringdove coos in the grove,The cataract's thunders jar,Rapids swirl white and hiss;Peoples in temples of loveEcho their anthems afar,Diapasons of bliss.Great flux of the world, O sea,Blood of earth's wild pulsing veinsBeating to orbs afar,Your life and mine cannot beUnlinked with God's joys and painsHere or in throbbing star!List as its music unbraids,List to the much-sounding sea,List to the repetend note,Multiplex tone of the sea,—Refrain of grief, of mirth,On violet air afloatFar borne to mountain and lea,To the home of its birth.
The glistening waters againAre marching loyal and trueUnder the hollow sky,—A hundred million of menThrobbing as fiery dewUnder the morning's eye!
List to the repetend note,Multiplex tone of the sea,Refrain of grief, of mirth,On violet air afloatFar borne to mountain and lea,To the home of its birth.
List as its music unbraids:—Rivulets pour from the hill,Winds wash the lips o' the trees,The brook by the rocky gladesBrattles its way to the millThrough fields adream with bees.
Forests of pine and of firPlain as their dark plumes are fretBy the free-coursing winds;Alder and golden birch stirTo notes too sweet to forget,Sung by brook as it winds.
Hark!The lone laugh of the aukAs 'twere a disprisoned soul comeFrom out the shining foams!And the loon's "ha! ha!" and mock'Mid the torn surf's booming drum,Or hushed tide's star-sprent domes!
The ringdove coos in the grove,The cataract's thunders jar,Rapids swirl white and hiss;Peoples in temples of loveEcho their anthems afar,Diapasons of bliss.
Great flux of the world, O sea,Blood of earth's wild pulsing veinsBeating to orbs afar,Your life and mine cannot beUnlinked with God's joys and painsHere or in throbbing star!
List as its music unbraids,List to the much-sounding sea,List to the repetend note,Multiplex tone of the sea,—Refrain of grief, of mirth,On violet air afloatFar borne to mountain and lea,To the home of its birth.
I.
Waft of beaten brine of the Bay,Tonic keen as steel in strife,Blowing wet and cool in my face,Tang of bitter savor of life!
Waft of beaten brine of the Bay,Tonic keen as steel in strife,Blowing wet and cool in my face,Tang of bitter savor of life!
Waft of beaten brine of the Bay,Tonic keen as steel in strife,Blowing wet and cool in my face,Tang of bitter savor of life!
II.
Billows calm of whitest fog,Over ships and homes now roll,—Breath of seas in quest of heaven,Groping blind as human soul,Blearing, hiding, muffling all,—Life itself laid under the shroud!
Billows calm of whitest fog,Over ships and homes now roll,—Breath of seas in quest of heaven,Groping blind as human soul,Blearing, hiding, muffling all,—Life itself laid under the shroud!
Billows calm of whitest fog,Over ships and homes now roll,—Breath of seas in quest of heaven,Groping blind as human soul,Blearing, hiding, muffling all,—Life itself laid under the shroud!
III.
Breath-blown veils of faltering mist,Filmy dreams of luminous cloud,Shifting curtains fret with air,Noiseless sped as northern lights;Opening, shutting gaps of blue,Gleams and glories, glooms and nights!Torn by winds and riven in spray,Borne afar o'er pine trees tall,Clinging round the mountain crests,Melt in azure roofing all!
Breath-blown veils of faltering mist,Filmy dreams of luminous cloud,Shifting curtains fret with air,Noiseless sped as northern lights;Opening, shutting gaps of blue,Gleams and glories, glooms and nights!Torn by winds and riven in spray,Borne afar o'er pine trees tall,Clinging round the mountain crests,Melt in azure roofing all!
Breath-blown veils of faltering mist,Filmy dreams of luminous cloud,Shifting curtains fret with air,Noiseless sped as northern lights;Opening, shutting gaps of blue,Gleams and glories, glooms and nights!
Torn by winds and riven in spray,Borne afar o'er pine trees tall,Clinging round the mountain crests,Melt in azure roofing all!
IV.
Mystic phantom, mime of life:Witching visions, vanishing play,Belts of shadow, rending veils,Cloudless dome of perfect day!
Mystic phantom, mime of life:Witching visions, vanishing play,Belts of shadow, rending veils,Cloudless dome of perfect day!
Mystic phantom, mime of life:Witching visions, vanishing play,Belts of shadow, rending veils,Cloudless dome of perfect day!
V.
Come again, white vapor of seas,Blow thy pungent balm in my face,Soft illusions weave o'er earth,Charm me up to heaven's embrace!
Come again, white vapor of seas,Blow thy pungent balm in my face,Soft illusions weave o'er earth,Charm me up to heaven's embrace!
Come again, white vapor of seas,Blow thy pungent balm in my face,Soft illusions weave o'er earth,Charm me up to heaven's embrace!
A pearly boat am I,From Silver Crag I hail,Wrought of the sea and sky,Freighted with moonbeams pale.I hoist my purple sailsTo catch the starbeam's gold,And furl them in the galesThe sun blows overbold.Rainbows and flying tints,The sunset's crimson glow,A thousand gleams and glintsAll day do come and go.But as the silver moonRolls up the breathless blue,And all the stars in swoonAre hidden from my view,I ope my hatches wideAnd lade with pearl and sheen,To deck my home-bound bride,The Basin's peerless queen.
A pearly boat am I,From Silver Crag I hail,Wrought of the sea and sky,Freighted with moonbeams pale.I hoist my purple sailsTo catch the starbeam's gold,And furl them in the galesThe sun blows overbold.Rainbows and flying tints,The sunset's crimson glow,A thousand gleams and glintsAll day do come and go.But as the silver moonRolls up the breathless blue,And all the stars in swoonAre hidden from my view,I ope my hatches wideAnd lade with pearl and sheen,To deck my home-bound bride,The Basin's peerless queen.
A pearly boat am I,From Silver Crag I hail,Wrought of the sea and sky,Freighted with moonbeams pale.
I hoist my purple sailsTo catch the starbeam's gold,And furl them in the galesThe sun blows overbold.
Rainbows and flying tints,The sunset's crimson glow,A thousand gleams and glintsAll day do come and go.
But as the silver moonRolls up the breathless blue,And all the stars in swoonAre hidden from my view,
I ope my hatches wideAnd lade with pearl and sheen,To deck my home-bound bride,The Basin's peerless queen.
(Designs for a Time-Piece.)
I.
The Enchantress.
In silver shoon, on sapphire pavement clear,Fair Dian walks the overarching night;Her spell she lays—great Fundy leaps with cheer!She breaks—he flees in elemental might!
In silver shoon, on sapphire pavement clear,Fair Dian walks the overarching night;Her spell she lays—great Fundy leaps with cheer!She breaks—he flees in elemental might!
In silver shoon, on sapphire pavement clear,Fair Dian walks the overarching night;Her spell she lays—great Fundy leaps with cheer!She breaks—he flees in elemental might!
II.
The Lovers.
Dian, pale Dian, sailing the upper sea,Searching for lover lost on earth's lone beach;And Fundy, forward, backward, ceaselessly,By love's impulsions borne to utmost reach.
Dian, pale Dian, sailing the upper sea,Searching for lover lost on earth's lone beach;And Fundy, forward, backward, ceaselessly,By love's impulsions borne to utmost reach.
Dian, pale Dian, sailing the upper sea,Searching for lover lost on earth's lone beach;And Fundy, forward, backward, ceaselessly,By love's impulsions borne to utmost reach.
III.
Art and Science.
Dian, with silver robe from her shoulders flung,And Fundy, with his tidal arc and gauge,Beating as a great pendulum forth-swung,The seconds of the geologic age.
Dian, with silver robe from her shoulders flung,And Fundy, with his tidal arc and gauge,Beating as a great pendulum forth-swung,The seconds of the geologic age.
Dian, with silver robe from her shoulders flung,And Fundy, with his tidal arc and gauge,Beating as a great pendulum forth-swung,The seconds of the geologic age.
From the broad-shouldered Cobequids we sawProne Blomidon in lotos-eyed repose,The immemorial vigil lapst to dream.The Basin lay as if in calm of swoon.Upon the bosom of the breathing tideThe drifting ships, wide-winged in air, in sea,Sailed double on a single keel—a shipIn either stilly heaven, above, beneath.The day was warm, and as we lay besideThe woodland brook and watched the pinfish play,We saw the sky within a silver pool,Like a great vase of lapis lazuliVeined with the feathery spray of cirrus cloud,While cumuli in spotless beauty bloomedTherein—a garden of the gods! And allThe pool seemed fragrant with a myriad sweets."There's promise of fair morrow," Harold said,"The witness of the sea and wood is one:The hissing brine, moonstruck, comes vengeful upIts iron gateways with remorseless flood—This little brook in rage and foam tears throughA hundred hills—each sets a mirror atOur feet of beauty's self. And so, I ween,The fury of the age will end as fullOf calm as are this sea and pool of heaven."And breasting an old path to the carved shoreWhere fell at ebb the sea-green billows clear,—A path o'ertangled thick with alder hungWith tags that take the rich brown Vandyke loved,And cool with dusky air in which, all still,Eye-bright and fronded fern and lichened spruceSwam deep in voiceless sea of wildwood balm—My eye had sight of emerald moss and bellsThat wreathed the bearded rocks that once were fire."Ho! here is where the fisher lives who singsAll day while fingering nets, and chants the tideTo sleep," cried Harold, "as he tends his seinesAt night. Some three-score souls like his would makeA state, and one such state the golden age.This old man never knows when spring is past,But pipes a robin song from May to May,A fresh-blown breezy song of coming good—He's piping now!"Heirs of the century,Sons of the next,Hearten your spirits,Your souls keep unvext.There's an ebb in the tide,There's an open sea wide,But where sun and star dart,You've a trustworthy chart.Beside the wave-worn cliffs,Painted with rainbows of a thousand storms,We sat us down, and took on grateful cheekAnd brow the waking winds that yestermorn,Far out Atlantic's grey unresting wastes,In awful tempest smote the full-winged shipAnd pluckt it naked to the hungry deep."Peace is of conflict born," I said, "and goodSeems rooted oft in ill. Man gropes in fog,And is a child tost in a cockle-shell.The stars wink over him and then are gone,The sun is not, and when he deems he's lost,The shore breaks forth in silver welcome sweet."Care for the coming man,Heirs of the race,Hearten your spirits,Gird! quicken your pace!There's a sound in the air,There are trumpets ablare,But there's nothing to dread,You've God overhead."The Sirens once were symbol of chief fearsThat met the hardy mariner on life's main,"Said Harold, musingly, "but now the coastIs set with sirens groaning lest he touchThe isles mist-veiled and hooded white with fog,But cruel as the Sisters twain of death.Science, to-day, the witchery of the pastTurns into truth to guide the course of man,Tracks to its lair disease, and bolt and flameSubdues to service of the struggling race;While breeze of health begins to fan alikeThe cheeks of rich and poor in city ways,And wisdom cries aloud in every street."You of the world-ages,Saviors of man,Hearten your spirits,Lay open God's plan.Labor hungers and wastesWhile love tarries nor hastes,Yet the note's round and clear,The full time draweth near."But what of man's grim lust and greed?" said I."The comradeship of stars and night is notMore awful than is that of man with sin,Nor shows more steadfast purpose 'gainst the light.The sky and air fresh-washed with summer rainForthwith begin to cloud with haze and smokeTill smit again with lightning's wrath, and tornBy buffet of the thunder's pealing voice.So hath it been with man, till judgment-ireReddens in vain to purge his murky skyAnd flash the light of God upon his soul.The beastly lure of drunkenness that cloaksItself in the white mantle of the Christ;Delusion's wand that prints mirage for sightOn eyes of civic crowds, and nations, too,Or, unclean, faith assoils in simple hearts;The simpering guile that toys with capitalAnd robs the workman of his honest wage,While like the surgy murmurs of the seaSounds out the moan of willing labor's voiceFor bread to fill its famished children's mouths;The lust of power to sit in place of GodAnd turn for selfish ends the wheels of fateOf fellowman,—these wait a day of doom!"Heirs of the century,Sons of renown,Lift up humanity'sBroad kingdom and crown.There's a purpose replete,To put all 'neath man's feet,And we see it begunIn the Virgin's crowned Son."Injustice," Harold said, with eye that burnedLike a star, "isthe devil's own trade-mark,And hottest comes from hell through saintly hands!The race of man is in the making yet.Hypocrisy still deftly apes true worth—Thus prophesying universal good.Nature is non-committal of her end,But God is hiding not man's destiny.Yon fitful beacon flares the dark night through,And then the kindling clouds, day's heralds, burnIn golden dawn. Earth's skyward crags, which thirstFor news from God, are bathed in heavenly light,And from their sunrise shoulders the full mornShoots far the splendors of its coming noon.The shadows of a fleeing night yet dimThe age and mask a hundred ills as good,More eager graspt at since they haste away;But from the slopes there pours a clear new light,Divinely aired, above that of the sun.Philosophy of schools, nor science wise,Nor labor, of itself, life's secret finds,That fills the promise of man's vermeil bloom.'Tis love alone can sheathe the alien sword,And crown mankind in his own kingdom lord."Heirs of the coming age,Makers of man,The Christ be your pattern,Ay, choose with elan.There's a presence at hand,There's a voice of command—It is Love, King of men,Alleluia, Amen!And as we turned toward home by open beach,The waves were loud in clamor on the shore;But over all, and far away, we caughtThe drifting chant of the old Christian seer:It is Love, King of men,Alleluia, Amen!
From the broad-shouldered Cobequids we sawProne Blomidon in lotos-eyed repose,The immemorial vigil lapst to dream.The Basin lay as if in calm of swoon.Upon the bosom of the breathing tideThe drifting ships, wide-winged in air, in sea,Sailed double on a single keel—a shipIn either stilly heaven, above, beneath.The day was warm, and as we lay besideThe woodland brook and watched the pinfish play,We saw the sky within a silver pool,Like a great vase of lapis lazuliVeined with the feathery spray of cirrus cloud,While cumuli in spotless beauty bloomedTherein—a garden of the gods! And allThe pool seemed fragrant with a myriad sweets."There's promise of fair morrow," Harold said,"The witness of the sea and wood is one:The hissing brine, moonstruck, comes vengeful upIts iron gateways with remorseless flood—This little brook in rage and foam tears throughA hundred hills—each sets a mirror atOur feet of beauty's self. And so, I ween,The fury of the age will end as fullOf calm as are this sea and pool of heaven."And breasting an old path to the carved shoreWhere fell at ebb the sea-green billows clear,—A path o'ertangled thick with alder hungWith tags that take the rich brown Vandyke loved,And cool with dusky air in which, all still,Eye-bright and fronded fern and lichened spruceSwam deep in voiceless sea of wildwood balm—My eye had sight of emerald moss and bellsThat wreathed the bearded rocks that once were fire."Ho! here is where the fisher lives who singsAll day while fingering nets, and chants the tideTo sleep," cried Harold, "as he tends his seinesAt night. Some three-score souls like his would makeA state, and one such state the golden age.This old man never knows when spring is past,But pipes a robin song from May to May,A fresh-blown breezy song of coming good—He's piping now!"Heirs of the century,Sons of the next,Hearten your spirits,Your souls keep unvext.There's an ebb in the tide,There's an open sea wide,But where sun and star dart,You've a trustworthy chart.Beside the wave-worn cliffs,Painted with rainbows of a thousand storms,We sat us down, and took on grateful cheekAnd brow the waking winds that yestermorn,Far out Atlantic's grey unresting wastes,In awful tempest smote the full-winged shipAnd pluckt it naked to the hungry deep."Peace is of conflict born," I said, "and goodSeems rooted oft in ill. Man gropes in fog,And is a child tost in a cockle-shell.The stars wink over him and then are gone,The sun is not, and when he deems he's lost,The shore breaks forth in silver welcome sweet."Care for the coming man,Heirs of the race,Hearten your spirits,Gird! quicken your pace!There's a sound in the air,There are trumpets ablare,But there's nothing to dread,You've God overhead."The Sirens once were symbol of chief fearsThat met the hardy mariner on life's main,"Said Harold, musingly, "but now the coastIs set with sirens groaning lest he touchThe isles mist-veiled and hooded white with fog,But cruel as the Sisters twain of death.Science, to-day, the witchery of the pastTurns into truth to guide the course of man,Tracks to its lair disease, and bolt and flameSubdues to service of the struggling race;While breeze of health begins to fan alikeThe cheeks of rich and poor in city ways,And wisdom cries aloud in every street."You of the world-ages,Saviors of man,Hearten your spirits,Lay open God's plan.Labor hungers and wastesWhile love tarries nor hastes,Yet the note's round and clear,The full time draweth near."But what of man's grim lust and greed?" said I."The comradeship of stars and night is notMore awful than is that of man with sin,Nor shows more steadfast purpose 'gainst the light.The sky and air fresh-washed with summer rainForthwith begin to cloud with haze and smokeTill smit again with lightning's wrath, and tornBy buffet of the thunder's pealing voice.So hath it been with man, till judgment-ireReddens in vain to purge his murky skyAnd flash the light of God upon his soul.The beastly lure of drunkenness that cloaksItself in the white mantle of the Christ;Delusion's wand that prints mirage for sightOn eyes of civic crowds, and nations, too,Or, unclean, faith assoils in simple hearts;The simpering guile that toys with capitalAnd robs the workman of his honest wage,While like the surgy murmurs of the seaSounds out the moan of willing labor's voiceFor bread to fill its famished children's mouths;The lust of power to sit in place of GodAnd turn for selfish ends the wheels of fateOf fellowman,—these wait a day of doom!"Heirs of the century,Sons of renown,Lift up humanity'sBroad kingdom and crown.There's a purpose replete,To put all 'neath man's feet,And we see it begunIn the Virgin's crowned Son."Injustice," Harold said, with eye that burnedLike a star, "isthe devil's own trade-mark,And hottest comes from hell through saintly hands!The race of man is in the making yet.Hypocrisy still deftly apes true worth—Thus prophesying universal good.Nature is non-committal of her end,But God is hiding not man's destiny.Yon fitful beacon flares the dark night through,And then the kindling clouds, day's heralds, burnIn golden dawn. Earth's skyward crags, which thirstFor news from God, are bathed in heavenly light,And from their sunrise shoulders the full mornShoots far the splendors of its coming noon.The shadows of a fleeing night yet dimThe age and mask a hundred ills as good,More eager graspt at since they haste away;But from the slopes there pours a clear new light,Divinely aired, above that of the sun.Philosophy of schools, nor science wise,Nor labor, of itself, life's secret finds,That fills the promise of man's vermeil bloom.'Tis love alone can sheathe the alien sword,And crown mankind in his own kingdom lord."Heirs of the coming age,Makers of man,The Christ be your pattern,Ay, choose with elan.There's a presence at hand,There's a voice of command—It is Love, King of men,Alleluia, Amen!And as we turned toward home by open beach,The waves were loud in clamor on the shore;But over all, and far away, we caughtThe drifting chant of the old Christian seer:It is Love, King of men,Alleluia, Amen!
From the broad-shouldered Cobequids we sawProne Blomidon in lotos-eyed repose,The immemorial vigil lapst to dream.The Basin lay as if in calm of swoon.Upon the bosom of the breathing tideThe drifting ships, wide-winged in air, in sea,Sailed double on a single keel—a shipIn either stilly heaven, above, beneath.The day was warm, and as we lay besideThe woodland brook and watched the pinfish play,We saw the sky within a silver pool,Like a great vase of lapis lazuliVeined with the feathery spray of cirrus cloud,While cumuli in spotless beauty bloomedTherein—a garden of the gods! And allThe pool seemed fragrant with a myriad sweets.
"There's promise of fair morrow," Harold said,"The witness of the sea and wood is one:The hissing brine, moonstruck, comes vengeful upIts iron gateways with remorseless flood—This little brook in rage and foam tears throughA hundred hills—each sets a mirror atOur feet of beauty's self. And so, I ween,The fury of the age will end as fullOf calm as are this sea and pool of heaven."
And breasting an old path to the carved shoreWhere fell at ebb the sea-green billows clear,—A path o'ertangled thick with alder hungWith tags that take the rich brown Vandyke loved,And cool with dusky air in which, all still,Eye-bright and fronded fern and lichened spruceSwam deep in voiceless sea of wildwood balm—My eye had sight of emerald moss and bellsThat wreathed the bearded rocks that once were fire.
"Ho! here is where the fisher lives who singsAll day while fingering nets, and chants the tideTo sleep," cried Harold, "as he tends his seinesAt night. Some three-score souls like his would makeA state, and one such state the golden age.This old man never knows when spring is past,But pipes a robin song from May to May,A fresh-blown breezy song of coming good—He's piping now!"
Heirs of the century,Sons of the next,Hearten your spirits,Your souls keep unvext.There's an ebb in the tide,There's an open sea wide,But where sun and star dart,You've a trustworthy chart.
Beside the wave-worn cliffs,Painted with rainbows of a thousand storms,We sat us down, and took on grateful cheekAnd brow the waking winds that yestermorn,Far out Atlantic's grey unresting wastes,In awful tempest smote the full-winged shipAnd pluckt it naked to the hungry deep."Peace is of conflict born," I said, "and goodSeems rooted oft in ill. Man gropes in fog,And is a child tost in a cockle-shell.The stars wink over him and then are gone,The sun is not, and when he deems he's lost,The shore breaks forth in silver welcome sweet."
Care for the coming man,Heirs of the race,Hearten your spirits,Gird! quicken your pace!There's a sound in the air,There are trumpets ablare,But there's nothing to dread,You've God overhead.
"The Sirens once were symbol of chief fearsThat met the hardy mariner on life's main,"Said Harold, musingly, "but now the coastIs set with sirens groaning lest he touchThe isles mist-veiled and hooded white with fog,But cruel as the Sisters twain of death.Science, to-day, the witchery of the pastTurns into truth to guide the course of man,Tracks to its lair disease, and bolt and flameSubdues to service of the struggling race;While breeze of health begins to fan alikeThe cheeks of rich and poor in city ways,And wisdom cries aloud in every street."
You of the world-ages,Saviors of man,Hearten your spirits,Lay open God's plan.Labor hungers and wastesWhile love tarries nor hastes,Yet the note's round and clear,The full time draweth near.
"But what of man's grim lust and greed?" said I."The comradeship of stars and night is notMore awful than is that of man with sin,Nor shows more steadfast purpose 'gainst the light.The sky and air fresh-washed with summer rainForthwith begin to cloud with haze and smokeTill smit again with lightning's wrath, and tornBy buffet of the thunder's pealing voice.So hath it been with man, till judgment-ireReddens in vain to purge his murky skyAnd flash the light of God upon his soul.The beastly lure of drunkenness that cloaksItself in the white mantle of the Christ;Delusion's wand that prints mirage for sightOn eyes of civic crowds, and nations, too,Or, unclean, faith assoils in simple hearts;The simpering guile that toys with capitalAnd robs the workman of his honest wage,While like the surgy murmurs of the seaSounds out the moan of willing labor's voiceFor bread to fill its famished children's mouths;The lust of power to sit in place of GodAnd turn for selfish ends the wheels of fateOf fellowman,—these wait a day of doom!"
Heirs of the century,Sons of renown,Lift up humanity'sBroad kingdom and crown.There's a purpose replete,To put all 'neath man's feet,And we see it begunIn the Virgin's crowned Son.
"Injustice," Harold said, with eye that burnedLike a star, "isthe devil's own trade-mark,And hottest comes from hell through saintly hands!The race of man is in the making yet.Hypocrisy still deftly apes true worth—Thus prophesying universal good.Nature is non-committal of her end,But God is hiding not man's destiny.Yon fitful beacon flares the dark night through,And then the kindling clouds, day's heralds, burnIn golden dawn. Earth's skyward crags, which thirstFor news from God, are bathed in heavenly light,And from their sunrise shoulders the full mornShoots far the splendors of its coming noon.The shadows of a fleeing night yet dimThe age and mask a hundred ills as good,More eager graspt at since they haste away;But from the slopes there pours a clear new light,Divinely aired, above that of the sun.Philosophy of schools, nor science wise,Nor labor, of itself, life's secret finds,That fills the promise of man's vermeil bloom.'Tis love alone can sheathe the alien sword,And crown mankind in his own kingdom lord."
Heirs of the coming age,Makers of man,The Christ be your pattern,Ay, choose with elan.There's a presence at hand,There's a voice of command—It is Love, King of men,Alleluia, Amen!
And as we turned toward home by open beach,The waves were loud in clamor on the shore;But over all, and far away, we caughtThe drifting chant of the old Christian seer:
It is Love, King of men,Alleluia, Amen!
I.
Away from Howth into the southA stanch brave ship left harbor-mouth.TheEaster Bell, all sails a-swell,Gallantly swept to sea they tell,And Nora flamed like one ashamed,When her fair sailor-man they named.
Away from Howth into the southA stanch brave ship left harbor-mouth.TheEaster Bell, all sails a-swell,Gallantly swept to sea they tell,And Nora flamed like one ashamed,When her fair sailor-man they named.
Away from Howth into the southA stanch brave ship left harbor-mouth.
TheEaster Bell, all sails a-swell,Gallantly swept to sea they tell,
And Nora flamed like one ashamed,When her fair sailor-man they named.
II.
Three moons did heap the cresting deepSince Nora Lee was wed at Dreep.Up from the dim grey ocean's rimNo tidings came of ship, or him.A sea-gull's wing would make her sing,And eye with smiles her wedding-ring.If signal high flew in the sky,She knew theEaster Bellwas nigh,And pulled a rose, as wife that knowsHer good man cometh at the close.The white ship came—'twas not the name!And Nora Lee was not the same.
Three moons did heap the cresting deepSince Nora Lee was wed at Dreep.Up from the dim grey ocean's rimNo tidings came of ship, or him.A sea-gull's wing would make her sing,And eye with smiles her wedding-ring.If signal high flew in the sky,She knew theEaster Bellwas nigh,And pulled a rose, as wife that knowsHer good man cometh at the close.The white ship came—'twas not the name!And Nora Lee was not the same.
Three moons did heap the cresting deepSince Nora Lee was wed at Dreep.
Up from the dim grey ocean's rimNo tidings came of ship, or him.
A sea-gull's wing would make her sing,And eye with smiles her wedding-ring.
If signal high flew in the sky,She knew theEaster Bellwas nigh,
And pulled a rose, as wife that knowsHer good man cometh at the close.
The white ship came—'twas not the name!And Nora Lee was not the same.
III.
The kraken grim, in dream, did swimBeside theEaster Bell, and him.The ocean swell and harbor bellChimed in an endless passing knell.In gleaming green of breaker's sheen,The pallid light of death was seen.The shaping clouds, the mist, like shrouds,Floated in ever-thickening crowds,—Till piping wind her blood did bind,Froze by the phantoms of the mind.
The kraken grim, in dream, did swimBeside theEaster Bell, and him.The ocean swell and harbor bellChimed in an endless passing knell.In gleaming green of breaker's sheen,The pallid light of death was seen.The shaping clouds, the mist, like shrouds,Floated in ever-thickening crowds,—Till piping wind her blood did bind,Froze by the phantoms of the mind.
The kraken grim, in dream, did swimBeside theEaster Bell, and him.
The ocean swell and harbor bellChimed in an endless passing knell.
In gleaming green of breaker's sheen,The pallid light of death was seen.
The shaping clouds, the mist, like shrouds,Floated in ever-thickening crowds,—
Till piping wind her blood did bind,Froze by the phantoms of the mind.
IV.
"Cheer up, good wife," the neighbors rifeSaid all, "theBellhas charmëd life."Brave Captain Head, no dawn a-redIn vain e'er signaled him, 'tis said."Of all this town, from foot to crownNo sailor has so just renown."The winds that blow, the reefs that grow,Each one by heart he'd know, he'd know."Some night full soon, or morn, or noon,TheBellwill fly her home gossoon!"
"Cheer up, good wife," the neighbors rifeSaid all, "theBellhas charmëd life."Brave Captain Head, no dawn a-redIn vain e'er signaled him, 'tis said."Of all this town, from foot to crownNo sailor has so just renown."The winds that blow, the reefs that grow,Each one by heart he'd know, he'd know."Some night full soon, or morn, or noon,TheBellwill fly her home gossoon!"
"Cheer up, good wife," the neighbors rifeSaid all, "theBellhas charmëd life.
"Brave Captain Head, no dawn a-redIn vain e'er signaled him, 'tis said.
"Of all this town, from foot to crownNo sailor has so just renown.
"The winds that blow, the reefs that grow,Each one by heart he'd know, he'd know.
"Some night full soon, or morn, or noon,TheBellwill fly her home gossoon!"
V.
The days they came and went the same,The moons, the tides, the mists, the flame.And Nora said: "Since I was wedSix moons the heaping tides have led."In gloom I pine—(love makes him mine,Alive or dead)—I'll throw the line!"
The days they came and went the same,The moons, the tides, the mists, the flame.And Nora said: "Since I was wedSix moons the heaping tides have led."In gloom I pine—(love makes him mine,Alive or dead)—I'll throw the line!"
The days they came and went the same,The moons, the tides, the mists, the flame.
And Nora said: "Since I was wedSix moons the heaping tides have led.
"In gloom I pine—(love makes him mine,Alive or dead)—I'll throw the line!"
VI.
She pulled a rose, as wife that knowsHer good man cometh at the close.Three neighbors true with her she drewTo the grey shore, and, calling, threw,With passionate leap, far to the deep,The life-line good wives always keep—"O Mike, my man, my dear good man!The line, the line, my dear good man!"(Calling so sore adown the shore,As fell the wintry surge's roar.)Across the line of foaming brine,Low answer came that lit her eyne.*******The neighbors three with Nora LeeAll heard the words from out the sea,Yet none e'er said what past the wed,—A fearsome awe o'er them was spread.
She pulled a rose, as wife that knowsHer good man cometh at the close.Three neighbors true with her she drewTo the grey shore, and, calling, threw,With passionate leap, far to the deep,The life-line good wives always keep—"O Mike, my man, my dear good man!The line, the line, my dear good man!"(Calling so sore adown the shore,As fell the wintry surge's roar.)Across the line of foaming brine,Low answer came that lit her eyne.*******The neighbors three with Nora LeeAll heard the words from out the sea,Yet none e'er said what past the wed,—A fearsome awe o'er them was spread.
She pulled a rose, as wife that knowsHer good man cometh at the close.
Three neighbors true with her she drewTo the grey shore, and, calling, threw,
With passionate leap, far to the deep,The life-line good wives always keep—
"O Mike, my man, my dear good man!The line, the line, my dear good man!"
(Calling so sore adown the shore,As fell the wintry surge's roar.)
Across the line of foaming brine,Low answer came that lit her eyne.
*******
The neighbors three with Nora LeeAll heard the words from out the sea,
Yet none e'er said what past the wed,—A fearsome awe o'er them was spread.
VII.
When next moon fell, theEaster BellSailed into harbor, as they tell,With silk "gossoon" astream aboon—And Nora in her calm did croon,And softly tell: "I knew it well,His head it tosseth with weed and shell."
When next moon fell, theEaster BellSailed into harbor, as they tell,With silk "gossoon" astream aboon—And Nora in her calm did croon,And softly tell: "I knew it well,His head it tosseth with weed and shell."
When next moon fell, theEaster BellSailed into harbor, as they tell,
With silk "gossoon" astream aboon—And Nora in her calm did croon,
And softly tell: "I knew it well,His head it tosseth with weed and shell."
I.
"Neural and hæmal arch," you say,"Tell out man's history to-day,Brain and mechanics have their way."Is structure then sole test of kin?The ape from man, in form and skin,Is far as holiness from sin!Emotion swears with hand uplift,That beauty is no mere makeshift,Significance divine its drift.Beauty of sound, articulate speech,Lories and pyes might simians teach,These, therefore, nearer to man reach;While nightingale and mocking-bird,Approach, in music's heavenly word,Closer than mammal e'er conferred.
"Neural and hæmal arch," you say,"Tell out man's history to-day,Brain and mechanics have their way."Is structure then sole test of kin?The ape from man, in form and skin,Is far as holiness from sin!Emotion swears with hand uplift,That beauty is no mere makeshift,Significance divine its drift.Beauty of sound, articulate speech,Lories and pyes might simians teach,These, therefore, nearer to man reach;While nightingale and mocking-bird,Approach, in music's heavenly word,Closer than mammal e'er conferred.
"Neural and hæmal arch," you say,"Tell out man's history to-day,Brain and mechanics have their way."
Is structure then sole test of kin?The ape from man, in form and skin,Is far as holiness from sin!
Emotion swears with hand uplift,That beauty is no mere makeshift,Significance divine its drift.
Beauty of sound, articulate speech,Lories and pyes might simians teach,These, therefore, nearer to man reach;
While nightingale and mocking-bird,Approach, in music's heavenly word,Closer than mammal e'er conferred.
II.
Were structure and function parallel,The word might break the mystic spell,But function doth its test compel.Upward to man the beaver deftIn structure gains of tail bereft—But if there were no house-skill left!—And if in structure beavers beIn tooth and larynx nearer meThan flirting blackbird in ash-tree,His song beyond all such controlComes up in kindred echo-roll,With those that tremble in my soul.
Were structure and function parallel,The word might break the mystic spell,But function doth its test compel.Upward to man the beaver deftIn structure gains of tail bereft—But if there were no house-skill left!—And if in structure beavers beIn tooth and larynx nearer meThan flirting blackbird in ash-tree,His song beyond all such controlComes up in kindred echo-roll,With those that tremble in my soul.
Were structure and function parallel,The word might break the mystic spell,But function doth its test compel.
Upward to man the beaver deftIn structure gains of tail bereft—But if there were no house-skill left!—
And if in structure beavers beIn tooth and larynx nearer meThan flirting blackbird in ash-tree,
His song beyond all such controlComes up in kindred echo-roll,With those that tremble in my soul.
III.
True, in mechanics there is seenA gross resemblance in the mienOf ape and man—thought nigh unclean!But grosser want of function's shewnOf human attribute and tone,—Sweet rhythmic utterance unknown;Beauty of form, proportion fair,And dignity—all wanting there,Though neural and hæmal arch compare!
True, in mechanics there is seenA gross resemblance in the mienOf ape and man—thought nigh unclean!But grosser want of function's shewnOf human attribute and tone,—Sweet rhythmic utterance unknown;Beauty of form, proportion fair,And dignity—all wanting there,Though neural and hæmal arch compare!
True, in mechanics there is seenA gross resemblance in the mienOf ape and man—thought nigh unclean!
But grosser want of function's shewnOf human attribute and tone,—Sweet rhythmic utterance unknown;
Beauty of form, proportion fair,And dignity—all wanting there,Though neural and hæmal arch compare!
IV.
Of structure, all you find is thatA function it performs, whereatA thus or thus of sight's come at.And yet you truly know far more—Feeling from out her open doorAffirms, in speech of beauty's lore:"O, awesome!" "beauteous!" "pleasant too!""Inspiriting!" "ennobling!" "true!"Or contrariwise—each as is due.But no account of this you take;Your thoughts are polarized, and makeAn open sea of a tiny lake.
Of structure, all you find is thatA function it performs, whereatA thus or thus of sight's come at.And yet you truly know far more—Feeling from out her open doorAffirms, in speech of beauty's lore:"O, awesome!" "beauteous!" "pleasant too!""Inspiriting!" "ennobling!" "true!"Or contrariwise—each as is due.But no account of this you take;Your thoughts are polarized, and makeAn open sea of a tiny lake.
Of structure, all you find is thatA function it performs, whereatA thus or thus of sight's come at.
And yet you truly know far more—Feeling from out her open doorAffirms, in speech of beauty's lore:
"O, awesome!" "beauteous!" "pleasant too!""Inspiriting!" "ennobling!" "true!"Or contrariwise—each as is due.
But no account of this you take;Your thoughts are polarized, and makeAn open sea of a tiny lake.
V.
You don't believe the colors of birdsAnd insects are God's painted wordsTo please the master of His herds!"Mere marks ancestral, once of use,Now useless as an empty cruse—Derived, but not designed," your truce.Yet why such skilful pains bestow,That colorsoncehad use, to shew?Vain zeal, since that you cannot know.Fruitless your words! Is it not plain,"Designed" or not, like April rain,The end achievedisman's high gain?
You don't believe the colors of birdsAnd insects are God's painted wordsTo please the master of His herds!"Mere marks ancestral, once of use,Now useless as an empty cruse—Derived, but not designed," your truce.Yet why such skilful pains bestow,That colorsoncehad use, to shew?Vain zeal, since that you cannot know.Fruitless your words! Is it not plain,"Designed" or not, like April rain,The end achievedisman's high gain?
You don't believe the colors of birdsAnd insects are God's painted wordsTo please the master of His herds!
"Mere marks ancestral, once of use,Now useless as an empty cruse—Derived, but not designed," your truce.
Yet why such skilful pains bestow,That colorsoncehad use, to shew?Vain zeal, since that you cannot know.
Fruitless your words! Is it not plain,"Designed" or not, like April rain,The end achievedisman's high gain?
VI.
'Tis folly to attempt truth's goalWith logic got of half the soul,—Truth will not have the half, but whole.Beauty, God's gladness seen in time,Lights up Truth's calm white face sublimeWith radiance of the golden prime!Shall you and I look down for light?Nay, upward let us fix our sight,Downward's the awful gulf of night.
'Tis folly to attempt truth's goalWith logic got of half the soul,—Truth will not have the half, but whole.Beauty, God's gladness seen in time,Lights up Truth's calm white face sublimeWith radiance of the golden prime!Shall you and I look down for light?Nay, upward let us fix our sight,Downward's the awful gulf of night.
'Tis folly to attempt truth's goalWith logic got of half the soul,—Truth will not have the half, but whole.
Beauty, God's gladness seen in time,Lights up Truth's calm white face sublimeWith radiance of the golden prime!
Shall you and I look down for light?Nay, upward let us fix our sight,Downward's the awful gulf of night.
Not with her outward eyes, but with her mind,Her living soul, her faith,—for she was blind—Marie Depure, with simple, loving heart,Had seen the Christ, and chosen the good part.She never thought with Milton, in his pride,"Does God exact day labor, light denied?"But gave her willing hands as one who saw,Deftly to plait for use the yellow straw.With humble workers of her craft she wroughtFor daily bread, and Christ's great lesson taught,That love the life far more than meat regards,And body, more than raiment sweet with nards.For when the pastor, who, like John, had leanedUpon the Master's breast, spoke words that yeanedThe pity of his heart for those that sitIn heathen night, nor know Christ's torch is lit;Marie Depure, her soul winged like a doveEager to bear the news of light and love,Gave of her humble toil more than they all,—Since love makes willing answer to Love's call.Amazed, the man of God to Marie said:"Your gift is great, a part I take instead;"But she, with sweet insistence, spake him, "Nay,I'm richer far than those who see the day."These workers of the golden straw buy oil,When darkness falls, that they may see to toil;But I am blind, I need no oil for light,—I give this love-lit lamp for darker night."Marie Depure! A sweet and gracious beamSpeed from thy burning lamp, a Christ-like gleam,To those who in the darkness sit, and someWho, without serving, pray, "Thy Kingdom Come!"
Not with her outward eyes, but with her mind,Her living soul, her faith,—for she was blind—Marie Depure, with simple, loving heart,Had seen the Christ, and chosen the good part.She never thought with Milton, in his pride,"Does God exact day labor, light denied?"But gave her willing hands as one who saw,Deftly to plait for use the yellow straw.With humble workers of her craft she wroughtFor daily bread, and Christ's great lesson taught,That love the life far more than meat regards,And body, more than raiment sweet with nards.For when the pastor, who, like John, had leanedUpon the Master's breast, spoke words that yeanedThe pity of his heart for those that sitIn heathen night, nor know Christ's torch is lit;Marie Depure, her soul winged like a doveEager to bear the news of light and love,Gave of her humble toil more than they all,—Since love makes willing answer to Love's call.Amazed, the man of God to Marie said:"Your gift is great, a part I take instead;"But she, with sweet insistence, spake him, "Nay,I'm richer far than those who see the day."These workers of the golden straw buy oil,When darkness falls, that they may see to toil;But I am blind, I need no oil for light,—I give this love-lit lamp for darker night."Marie Depure! A sweet and gracious beamSpeed from thy burning lamp, a Christ-like gleam,To those who in the darkness sit, and someWho, without serving, pray, "Thy Kingdom Come!"
Not with her outward eyes, but with her mind,Her living soul, her faith,—for she was blind—Marie Depure, with simple, loving heart,Had seen the Christ, and chosen the good part.
She never thought with Milton, in his pride,"Does God exact day labor, light denied?"But gave her willing hands as one who saw,Deftly to plait for use the yellow straw.
With humble workers of her craft she wroughtFor daily bread, and Christ's great lesson taught,That love the life far more than meat regards,And body, more than raiment sweet with nards.
For when the pastor, who, like John, had leanedUpon the Master's breast, spoke words that yeanedThe pity of his heart for those that sitIn heathen night, nor know Christ's torch is lit;
Marie Depure, her soul winged like a doveEager to bear the news of light and love,Gave of her humble toil more than they all,—Since love makes willing answer to Love's call.
Amazed, the man of God to Marie said:"Your gift is great, a part I take instead;"But she, with sweet insistence, spake him, "Nay,I'm richer far than those who see the day.
"These workers of the golden straw buy oil,When darkness falls, that they may see to toil;But I am blind, I need no oil for light,—I give this love-lit lamp for darker night."
Marie Depure! A sweet and gracious beamSpeed from thy burning lamp, a Christ-like gleam,To those who in the darkness sit, and someWho, without serving, pray, "Thy Kingdom Come!"
An Easter Idyll.