Lifeis a strange avenue of various trees and flowers;Lightsome at commencement, but darkening to its end, in a distant massy portal.It beginneth as a little path, edged with the violet and primrose,A little path of lawny grass, and soft to tiny feet:Soon, spring thistles in the way, those early griefs of school,And fruit-trees ranged on either hand show holiday delights:Anon, the rose and the mimosa hint at sensitive affection,And vipers hide among the grass, and briars are woven in the hedges:Shortly, staked along in order, stand the tender saplings,While hollow hemlock and tall ferns fill the frequent interval:So advancing, quaintly mixed, majestic line the waySturdy oaks, and vigorous elms, the beech and forest-pine:And here the road is rough with rocks, wide, and scant of herbage,The sun is hot in heaven, and the ground is cleft and parched:And many-times a hollow trunk, decayed, or lightning-scathed,Or in its deadly solitude, the melancholy upas:But soon, with closer ranks, are set the sentinel trees,And darker shadows hover amongst Autumn's mellow tints;Ever and anon, a holly,—junipers, and cypresses, and yews;The soil is damp; the air is chill; night cometh on apace:Speed to the portal, traveller,—lo, there is a moon,With smiling light to guide thee safely through the dreadful shade:Hark,—that hollow knock,—behold, the warder openeth,The gate is gaping, and for thee;—those are the jaws of Death!
Lifeis a strange avenue of various trees and flowers;
Lightsome at commencement, but darkening to its end, in a distant massy portal.
It beginneth as a little path, edged with the violet and primrose,
A little path of lawny grass, and soft to tiny feet:
Soon, spring thistles in the way, those early griefs of school,
And fruit-trees ranged on either hand show holiday delights:
Anon, the rose and the mimosa hint at sensitive affection,
And vipers hide among the grass, and briars are woven in the hedges:
Shortly, staked along in order, stand the tender saplings,
While hollow hemlock and tall ferns fill the frequent interval:
So advancing, quaintly mixed, majestic line the way
Sturdy oaks, and vigorous elms, the beech and forest-pine:
And here the road is rough with rocks, wide, and scant of herbage,
The sun is hot in heaven, and the ground is cleft and parched:
And many-times a hollow trunk, decayed, or lightning-scathed,
Or in its deadly solitude, the melancholy upas:
But soon, with closer ranks, are set the sentinel trees,
And darker shadows hover amongst Autumn's mellow tints;
Ever and anon, a holly,—junipers, and cypresses, and yews;
The soil is damp; the air is chill; night cometh on apace:
Speed to the portal, traveller,—lo, there is a moon,
With smiling light to guide thee safely through the dreadful shade:
Hark,—that hollow knock,—behold, the warder openeth,
The gate is gaping, and for thee;—those are the jaws of Death!
Keepsilence, daughter of frivolity,—for Death is in that chamber!Startle not with echoing sound the strangely solemn peace.Death is here in spirit, watcher of a marble corpse,—That eye is fixed, that heart is still,—how dreadful in its stillness!Death, new tenant of the house, pervadeth all the fabric;He waiteth at the head, and he standeth at the feet, and hideth in the caverns of the breast:Death, subtle leech, hath anatomized soul from body,Dissecting well in every nerve its spirit from its substance:Death, rigid lord, hath claimed the heriot clay,While joyously the youthful soul hath gone to take his heritage:Death, cold usurer, hath seized his bonded debtor;Death, savage despot, hath caught his forfeit serf;Death, blind foe, wreaketh petty vengeance on the flesh;Death, fell cannibal, gloateth on his victim,And carrieth it with him to the grave, that dismal banquet-hall,Where in foul state the Royal Goul holdeth secret orgies.
Keepsilence, daughter of frivolity,—for Death is in that chamber!
Startle not with echoing sound the strangely solemn peace.
Death is here in spirit, watcher of a marble corpse,—
That eye is fixed, that heart is still,—how dreadful in its stillness!
Death, new tenant of the house, pervadeth all the fabric;
He waiteth at the head, and he standeth at the feet, and hideth in the caverns of the breast:
Death, subtle leech, hath anatomized soul from body,
Dissecting well in every nerve its spirit from its substance:
Death, rigid lord, hath claimed the heriot clay,
While joyously the youthful soul hath gone to take his heritage:
Death, cold usurer, hath seized his bonded debtor;
Death, savage despot, hath caught his forfeit serf;
Death, blind foe, wreaketh petty vengeance on the flesh;
Death, fell cannibal, gloateth on his victim,
And carrieth it with him to the grave, that dismal banquet-hall,
Where in foul state the Royal Goul holdeth secret orgies.
Hideit up, hide it up, draw the decent curtain:Hence! curious fool, and pry not on corruption:For the fearful mysteries of change are being there enacted,And many actors play their part on that small stage, the tomb.Leave the clay, that leprous thing, touch not the fleshly garment:Dust to dust, it mingleth well among the sacred soil:It is scattered by the winds, it is wafted by the waves, it mixeth with herbs and cattle,But God hath watched those morsels, and hath guided them in care:Each waiting soul must claim his own, when the archangel soundeth,And all the fields, and all the hills, shall move a mass of life;Bodies numberless crowding on the land, and covering the trampled sea,Darkening the air precipitate, and gathered scatheless from the fire;The Himalayan peaks shall yield their charge, and the desolate steppes of Siberia,The Maelström disengulph its spoil, and the iceberg manumit its captive:All shall teem with life, the converging fragments of humanity,Till every conscious essence greet his individual frame;For in some dignified similitude, alike, yet different in glory,This body shall be shaped anew, fit dwelling for the soul:The hovel hath grown to a palace, the bulb hath burst into the flower,Matter hath put on incorruption, and is at peace with spirit.
Hideit up, hide it up, draw the decent curtain:
Hence! curious fool, and pry not on corruption:
For the fearful mysteries of change are being there enacted,
And many actors play their part on that small stage, the tomb.
Leave the clay, that leprous thing, touch not the fleshly garment:
Dust to dust, it mingleth well among the sacred soil:
It is scattered by the winds, it is wafted by the waves, it mixeth with herbs and cattle,
But God hath watched those morsels, and hath guided them in care:
Each waiting soul must claim his own, when the archangel soundeth,
And all the fields, and all the hills, shall move a mass of life;
Bodies numberless crowding on the land, and covering the trampled sea,
Darkening the air precipitate, and gathered scatheless from the fire;
The Himalayan peaks shall yield their charge, and the desolate steppes of Siberia,
The Maelström disengulph its spoil, and the iceberg manumit its captive:
All shall teem with life, the converging fragments of humanity,
Till every conscious essence greet his individual frame;
For in some dignified similitude, alike, yet different in glory,
This body shall be shaped anew, fit dwelling for the soul:
The hovel hath grown to a palace, the bulb hath burst into the flower,
Matter hath put on incorruption, and is at peace with spirit.
Amen,—and so it shall be:—but now, the scene is drear,—Yea, though promises and hope strive to cheat its sadness;Full of grief, though faith herself is strong to speed the soul,For the partner of its toil is left behind to endure an ordeal of change.Dear partner, dear and frail, my loved though humble home,—Should I cast thee off without a pang, as a garment flung aside?Many years, for joy and sorrow, have I dwelt in thee,How shall I be reckless of thy weal, nor hope for thy perfection?—This also, He that lent thee for my uses in mortality,Shall well fulfil with boundless praise on that returning day:Behold, thou shalt be glorified: thou, mine abject friend,And should I meanly scorn thy state, until it rise to greatness?Far be it, O my soul, from thine expectant essence,To be heedless, if indignity or folly desecrate those thine ashes:Keep them safe with careful love; and let the mound be holy;And, thou that passest by, revere the waiting dead.
Amen,—and so it shall be:—but now, the scene is drear,—
Yea, though promises and hope strive to cheat its sadness;
Full of grief, though faith herself is strong to speed the soul,
For the partner of its toil is left behind to endure an ordeal of change.
Dear partner, dear and frail, my loved though humble home,—
Should I cast thee off without a pang, as a garment flung aside?
Many years, for joy and sorrow, have I dwelt in thee,
How shall I be reckless of thy weal, nor hope for thy perfection?—
This also, He that lent thee for my uses in mortality,
Shall well fulfil with boundless praise on that returning day:
Behold, thou shalt be glorified: thou, mine abject friend,
And should I meanly scorn thy state, until it rise to greatness?
Far be it, O my soul, from thine expectant essence,
To be heedless, if indignity or folly desecrate those thine ashes:
Keep them safe with careful love; and let the mound be holy;
And, thou that passest by, revere the waiting dead.
Naplessitteth by the sea, key-stone of an arch of azure,Crowned by consenting nations peerless queen of gaiety:She laugheth at the wrath of Ocean, she mocketh the fury of Vesuvius,She spurneth disease and misery and famine, that crowd her sunny streets:The giddy dance, the merry song, the festal glad procession,The noonday slumber and the midnight serenade,—all these make up her Life:Her Life?—and what her Death?—look we to the end of life,—Solon, and Tellus the Athenian, wisely have ye pointed to the grave.For behold yon dreary precinct,—those hundreds of stone wells,A pit for a day, a pit for a day,—a pit to be sealed for a year:And in the gloom of night, they raise the year-closed lid,—Look in,—for gnawing lime hath half consumed the carcases;Thus they hurl the daily dead into that horrible pit,The dead that only died this day,—as unconsidered offal!There, a stark white heap, unwept, unloved, uncared for,Old men and maidens, young men and infants, mingle in hideous corruption;Fling in the gnawing lime,—seal up the charnel for a year;For lo, a morrow's dawn hath tinged the mountain summit.O fair false city, thou gay and gilded harlot,Woe, for thy wanton heart, woe, for thy wicked hardness:Woe unto thee, that the lightsomeness of Life, beneath Italian suns,Should meet the solemnity of Death, in a sepulchre so foul and fearful.
Naplessitteth by the sea, key-stone of an arch of azure,
Crowned by consenting nations peerless queen of gaiety:
She laugheth at the wrath of Ocean, she mocketh the fury of Vesuvius,
She spurneth disease and misery and famine, that crowd her sunny streets:
The giddy dance, the merry song, the festal glad procession,
The noonday slumber and the midnight serenade,—all these make up her Life:
Her Life?—and what her Death?—look we to the end of life,—
Solon, and Tellus the Athenian, wisely have ye pointed to the grave.
For behold yon dreary precinct,—those hundreds of stone wells,
A pit for a day, a pit for a day,—a pit to be sealed for a year:
And in the gloom of night, they raise the year-closed lid,—
Look in,—for gnawing lime hath half consumed the carcases;
Thus they hurl the daily dead into that horrible pit,
The dead that only died this day,—as unconsidered offal!
There, a stark white heap, unwept, unloved, uncared for,
Old men and maidens, young men and infants, mingle in hideous corruption;
Fling in the gnawing lime,—seal up the charnel for a year;
For lo, a morrow's dawn hath tinged the mountain summit.
O fair false city, thou gay and gilded harlot,
Woe, for thy wanton heart, woe, for thy wicked hardness:
Woe unto thee, that the lightsomeness of Life, beneath Italian suns,
Should meet the solemnity of Death, in a sepulchre so foul and fearful.
Forthat, even to the best, the wise and pure and pious,Death, repulsive king, thine iron rule is terrible:Yea, and even at the best, in company of buried kindred,With hallowing rites, and friendly tears, and the dear old country church,Death, cold and lonely, thy frigid face is hateful,The bravest look on thee with dread, the humblest curse thy coming.Still, ye unwise among mankind, your foolishness hath added fears;The crowded cemetery, the catacomb of bones, the pestilential vault,With fancy's gliding ghost at eve, her moans and flaky footfalls,And the gibbering train of terror to fright your coward hearts.We speak not here of sin, nor the phantoms of a bloody conscience,Nor of solaces, and merciful pardon: we heed but the inevitable grave;The grave, that wage of guilt, that due return to dust,The grave, that goal of earth, and starting-post for Heaven.
Forthat, even to the best, the wise and pure and pious,
Death, repulsive king, thine iron rule is terrible:
Yea, and even at the best, in company of buried kindred,
With hallowing rites, and friendly tears, and the dear old country church,
Death, cold and lonely, thy frigid face is hateful,
The bravest look on thee with dread, the humblest curse thy coming.
Still, ye unwise among mankind, your foolishness hath added fears;
The crowded cemetery, the catacomb of bones, the pestilential vault,
With fancy's gliding ghost at eve, her moans and flaky footfalls,
And the gibbering train of terror to fright your coward hearts.
We speak not here of sin, nor the phantoms of a bloody conscience,
Nor of solaces, and merciful pardon: we heed but the inevitable grave;
The grave, that wage of guilt, that due return to dust,
The grave, that goal of earth, and starting-post for Heaven.
Plantit with laurels, sprinkle it with lilies, set it upon yonder dewy hillMidst holy prayers, and generous griefs, and consecrating blessings:Let Sophocles sleep among his ivy, green perennial garlands,Let olives shade their Virgil, and roses bloom above Corinne;To his foster-mother, Ocean, entrust the mariner in hope;The warrior's spirit, let it rise on high from the flaming fragrant pyre.But heap not coffins and corruption to infect the mass of living,Nor steal from odious realities the charitable poetry of Death:It is wise to gild uncomeliness, it is wise to mask necessity,It is wise from cheerful sights and sounds to draw their gentle uses:Hide the facts, the bitter facts, the foul, and fearful facts,Tend the body well in hope, this were praise and wisdom:But to plunge in gloom the parting soul, that hath loved its clay tenement so long,This were vanity and folly, the counsel of moroseness and despair.Not thus, the Scythian of old time welcomed Death with songs;Not thus, the shrewd Egyptian decorated Death with braveries;Not thus, on his funeral tower sleepeth the sun-worshipping Parsee;Not thus, the Moslem saint lieth in his arabesque mausoleum;Not thus, the wild red Indian, hunter of the far Missouri,In flowering trees hath nested up his forest-loving ancestry;Not thus, the Switzer mountaineer scattereth ribboned garlandsAbout the rustic cross that halloweth the bed of his beloved;Not thus, the village maiden wisheth she may die in spring,With store of violets and cowslips to be sprinkled on her snow-white shroud;Not thus, the dying poet asketh a cheerful grave,—Lay him in the sunshine, friends, nor sorrow that a Christian hath departed!
Plantit with laurels, sprinkle it with lilies, set it upon yonder dewy hill
Midst holy prayers, and generous griefs, and consecrating blessings:
Let Sophocles sleep among his ivy, green perennial garlands,
Let olives shade their Virgil, and roses bloom above Corinne;
To his foster-mother, Ocean, entrust the mariner in hope;
The warrior's spirit, let it rise on high from the flaming fragrant pyre.
But heap not coffins and corruption to infect the mass of living,
Nor steal from odious realities the charitable poetry of Death:
It is wise to gild uncomeliness, it is wise to mask necessity,
It is wise from cheerful sights and sounds to draw their gentle uses:
Hide the facts, the bitter facts, the foul, and fearful facts,
Tend the body well in hope, this were praise and wisdom:
But to plunge in gloom the parting soul, that hath loved its clay tenement so long,
This were vanity and folly, the counsel of moroseness and despair.
Not thus, the Scythian of old time welcomed Death with songs;
Not thus, the shrewd Egyptian decorated Death with braveries;
Not thus, on his funeral tower sleepeth the sun-worshipping Parsee;
Not thus, the Moslem saint lieth in his arabesque mausoleum;
Not thus, the wild red Indian, hunter of the far Missouri,
In flowering trees hath nested up his forest-loving ancestry;
Not thus, the Switzer mountaineer scattereth ribboned garlands
About the rustic cross that halloweth the bed of his beloved;
Not thus, the village maiden wisheth she may die in spring,
With store of violets and cowslips to be sprinkled on her snow-white shroud;
Not thus, the dying poet asketh a cheerful grave,—
Lay him in the sunshine, friends, nor sorrow that a Christian hath departed!
Yea;it is the poetry of Death, an Orpheus gladdening Hadës,To care with mindful love for all so dear—and dead;To think of them in hope, to look for them in joy, and—but for its simple vanity,—To pray with all the earnestness of nature for souls who cannot change.For the tree is felled, and boughed, and bare, and the Measurer standeth with His line;The chance is gone for ever, and is past the reach of prayer:For men and angels, good and ill, have rendered all their witness;The trial is over, the jury are gone in, and none can now be heard;Well are they agreed upon the verdict, just, and fixt, and final,And the sentence showeth clear, before the Judge hath spoken:Now,—while resting matter is at peace within the tomb,The conscious spirit watcheth in unspeakable suspense;Racked with a fearful looking-forward, or blissfully feeding on the foretaste,Waiting souls in eager expectation pass the solemn interval:They slumber not at death, but awaken, quickened to the terrors of the judgment;They lie not insensate among darkness, but exult, looking forward to the light:Idiotcy, brightening on the instant, when that veil is torn,Is grateful that his torpor here hath left him as an innocent:The young child, stricken as he played, and guileless babes unborn,Freed from fetters of the flesh, burst into mind immediate:Madness judgeth wisely, and the visions of the lunatic are gone,And each hasteneth to praise the mercy that made him irresponsible.For the soul is one, though manifold in act, working the machinery of brain,Reason, fancy, conscience, passion, are but varying phases;If, in God's wise purpose, the machine were shattered or confused,Still is soul the same, though it exhibit with a difference:Therefore, dissipate the brain, and set its inmate free,Behold, the maniacs and embryos stand in their place intelligent.That solvent eateth away all dross, leaving the gold intact:Matter lingereth in the retort, spirit hath flown to the receiver:And lo, that recipient of the spirits, it is some aerial world,An oasis midway on the desert space, separating earth from heaven,A prison-house for essences incorporate, a limbus vague and wide,Tartarus for evil, and Paradise for good, that intermediate Hadës.
Yea;it is the poetry of Death, an Orpheus gladdening Hadës,
To care with mindful love for all so dear—and dead;
To think of them in hope, to look for them in joy, and—but for its simple vanity,—
To pray with all the earnestness of nature for souls who cannot change.
For the tree is felled, and boughed, and bare, and the Measurer standeth with His line;
The chance is gone for ever, and is past the reach of prayer:
For men and angels, good and ill, have rendered all their witness;
The trial is over, the jury are gone in, and none can now be heard;
Well are they agreed upon the verdict, just, and fixt, and final,
And the sentence showeth clear, before the Judge hath spoken:
Now,—while resting matter is at peace within the tomb,
The conscious spirit watcheth in unspeakable suspense;
Racked with a fearful looking-forward, or blissfully feeding on the foretaste,
Waiting souls in eager expectation pass the solemn interval:
They slumber not at death, but awaken, quickened to the terrors of the judgment;
They lie not insensate among darkness, but exult, looking forward to the light:
Idiotcy, brightening on the instant, when that veil is torn,
Is grateful that his torpor here hath left him as an innocent:
The young child, stricken as he played, and guileless babes unborn,
Freed from fetters of the flesh, burst into mind immediate:
Madness judgeth wisely, and the visions of the lunatic are gone,
And each hasteneth to praise the mercy that made him irresponsible.
For the soul is one, though manifold in act, working the machinery of brain,
Reason, fancy, conscience, passion, are but varying phases;
If, in God's wise purpose, the machine were shattered or confused,
Still is soul the same, though it exhibit with a difference:
Therefore, dissipate the brain, and set its inmate free,
Behold, the maniacs and embryos stand in their place intelligent.
That solvent eateth away all dross, leaving the gold intact:
Matter lingereth in the retort, spirit hath flown to the receiver:
And lo, that recipient of the spirits, it is some aerial world,
An oasis midway on the desert space, separating earth from heaven,
A prison-house for essences incorporate, a limbus vague and wide,
Tartarus for evil, and Paradise for good, that intermediate Hadës.
O Death,what art thou? a Lawgiver that never altereth,Fixing the consummating seal, whereby the deeds of life become established:O Death, what art thou? a stern and silent usher,Leading to the judgment for Eternity, after the trial-scene of Time:O Death, what art thou? an Husbandman, that reapeth always,Out of season, as in season, with the sickle in his hand:O Death, what art thou? the shadow unto every substance,In the bower as in the battle, haunting night and day:O Death, what art thou? Nurse of dreamless slumbersFreshening the fevered flesh to a wakefulness eternal:O Death, what art thou? strange and solemn Alchymist,Elaborating life's elixir from these clayey crucibles:O Death, what art thou? Antitype of Nature's marvels,The seed and dormant chrysalis bursting into energy and glory.Thou calm safe anchorage for the shattered hulls of men,—Thou spot of gelid shade, after the hot-breathed desert,—Thou silent waiting-hall, where Adam meeteth with his children,—How full of dread, how full of hope, loometh inevitable Death:Of dread, for all have sinned; of hope, for One hath saved;The dread is drowned in joy, the hope is filled with immortality!—Pass along, pilgrim of life, go to thy grave unfearing,The terrors are but shadows now, that haunt the vale of Death.
O Death,what art thou? a Lawgiver that never altereth,
Fixing the consummating seal, whereby the deeds of life become established:
O Death, what art thou? a stern and silent usher,
Leading to the judgment for Eternity, after the trial-scene of Time:
O Death, what art thou? an Husbandman, that reapeth always,
Out of season, as in season, with the sickle in his hand:
O Death, what art thou? the shadow unto every substance,
In the bower as in the battle, haunting night and day:
O Death, what art thou? Nurse of dreamless slumbers
Freshening the fevered flesh to a wakefulness eternal:
O Death, what art thou? strange and solemn Alchymist,
Elaborating life's elixir from these clayey crucibles:
O Death, what art thou? Antitype of Nature's marvels,
The seed and dormant chrysalis bursting into energy and glory.
Thou calm safe anchorage for the shattered hulls of men,—
Thou spot of gelid shade, after the hot-breathed desert,—
Thou silent waiting-hall, where Adam meeteth with his children,—
How full of dread, how full of hope, loometh inevitable Death:
Of dread, for all have sinned; of hope, for One hath saved;
The dread is drowned in joy, the hope is filled with immortality!
The terrors are but shadows now, that haunt the vale of Death.
Girdup thy mind to contemplation, trembling inhabitant of earth;Tenant of a hovel for a day,—thou art heir of the universe for ever!For, neither congealing of the grave, nor gulphing waters of the firmament,Nor expansive airs of heaven, nor dissipative fires of Gehenna,Nor rust of rest, nor wear, nor waste, nor loss, nor chance, nor change,Shall avail to quench or overwhelm the spark of soul within thee!
Girdup thy mind to contemplation, trembling inhabitant of earth;
Tenant of a hovel for a day,—thou art heir of the universe for ever!
For, neither congealing of the grave, nor gulphing waters of the firmament,
Nor expansive airs of heaven, nor dissipative fires of Gehenna,
Nor rust of rest, nor wear, nor waste, nor loss, nor chance, nor change,
Shall avail to quench or overwhelm the spark of soul within thee!
Thouart an imperishable leaf on the evergreen bay-tree of Existence;A word from Wisdom's mouth, that cannot be unspoken;A ray of Love's own light; a drop in Mercy's sea;A creature, marvellous and fearful, begotten by the fiat of Omnipotence.I, that speak in weakness, and ye, that hear in charity,Shall not cease to live and feel, though flesh must see corruption;For the prison-gates of matter shall be broken, and the shackled soul go free,Free, for good or ill, to satisfy its appetence for ever:For ever,—dreadful doom, to be hurried on eternally to evil,—For ever,—happy fate, to ripen into perfectness—for ever!
Thouart an imperishable leaf on the evergreen bay-tree of Existence;
A word from Wisdom's mouth, that cannot be unspoken;
A ray of Love's own light; a drop in Mercy's sea;
A creature, marvellous and fearful, begotten by the fiat of Omnipotence.
I, that speak in weakness, and ye, that hear in charity,
Shall not cease to live and feel, though flesh must see corruption;
For the prison-gates of matter shall be broken, and the shackled soul go free,
Free, for good or ill, to satisfy its appetence for ever:
For ever,—dreadful doom, to be hurried on eternally to evil,—
For ever,—happy fate, to ripen into perfectness—for ever!
Andis there a thought within thy heart, O slave of sin and fear,A black and harmful hope, that erring spirit dieth?That primal disobedience hath ensured the death of soul,And separate evil sealed it thine—thy curse, Annihilation?Heed thou this; there is a Sacrifice; the Maker is Redeemer of His creature;Freely unto each, universally to all, is restored the privilege of essence:Whether unto grace or guilt, all must live through Him,Live in vital joy, or live in dying woe:Death in Adam, Life in Christ; the curse hung upon the cross:Who art thou that heedest of redemption, as narrower than the fall?All were dead,—He died for all; that living, they might love;If living souls withhold their love,—still, He hath died for them.Eve stole the knowledge; Christ gave the life:Knowledge and life are the perquisites of soul, the privilege of Man:Mercy stepped between, and stayed the double theft;God gave; and giving, bought; and buying, asketh love:And in such asking rendereth bliss, to all that hear and answer,For love with life is heaven; and life unloving, hell.
Andis there a thought within thy heart, O slave of sin and fear,
A black and harmful hope, that erring spirit dieth?
That primal disobedience hath ensured the death of soul,
And separate evil sealed it thine—thy curse, Annihilation?
Heed thou this; there is a Sacrifice; the Maker is Redeemer of His creature;
Freely unto each, universally to all, is restored the privilege of essence:
Whether unto grace or guilt, all must live through Him,
Live in vital joy, or live in dying woe:
Death in Adam, Life in Christ; the curse hung upon the cross:
Who art thou that heedest of redemption, as narrower than the fall?
All were dead,—He died for all; that living, they might love;
If living souls withhold their love,—still, He hath died for them.
Eve stole the knowledge; Christ gave the life:
Knowledge and life are the perquisites of soul, the privilege of Man:
Mercy stepped between, and stayed the double theft;
God gave; and giving, bought; and buying, asketh love:
And in such asking rendereth bliss, to all that hear and answer,
For love with life is heaven; and life unloving, hell.
Creatureof God, His will is for thy weal, eternally progressing;Fear not to trust a Maker's love, nor a Saviour's ransom:He drank for all,—for thee, and me,—the poison of our deeds;We shall not die, but live,—and, of His grace, we love.For, in the mysteries of Mercy, the One fore-knowing SpiritOutstrippeth reason's halting choice, and winneth men to Him:Who shall sound the depths? who shall reach the heights?Freedom, in the gyves of fate; and sovereignty, reconciled with justice.
Creatureof God, His will is for thy weal, eternally progressing;
Fear not to trust a Maker's love, nor a Saviour's ransom:
He drank for all,—for thee, and me,—the poison of our deeds;
We shall not die, but live,—and, of His grace, we love.
For, in the mysteries of Mercy, the One fore-knowing Spirit
Outstrippeth reason's halting choice, and winneth men to Him:
Who shall sound the depths? who shall reach the heights?
Freedom, in the gyves of fate; and sovereignty, reconciled with justice.
Ifthen, as annihilate by sin, the soul was ever forfeit,Godhead paid the mighty price, the pledge hath been redeemed:He from the waters of Oblivion raised the drowning race,Lifting them even to Himself, the baseless Rock of Ages.None can escape from Adam's guilt, or second Adam's guerdon:Sin and death are thine; thine also is interminable being:Let it be even as thou wilt, still are we ransomed from nonentity,The worlds of bliss and woe are peopled with immortals:And ruin is thy blame; for thou, the worst, art freeTo take from Heaven the grace of love, as the gift of life:Yet is not remedy thy praise; for thou, the best, art boundIn self, and sin, and darkling sloth, until He break the chain:None can tell, without a struggle, if that chain be broken;Strive to-day,—one effort more may prove that thou art free!Here is faith and prayer, here is the Grace and the Atonement,Here is the creature feeling for its God, and the prodigal returning to his Father.But, behold, His reasonable children, standing in just probation,With ears to hear, neglect; with eyes to see, refuse:They will not have the blessing with the life, the blessing that enricheth Immortality;And look for pleasures out of God, for heaven in life alone:So, they snatch that awful prize, existence void of love,And in their darkening exile make a needful hell of self.
Ifthen, as annihilate by sin, the soul was ever forfeit,
Godhead paid the mighty price, the pledge hath been redeemed:
He from the waters of Oblivion raised the drowning race,
Lifting them even to Himself, the baseless Rock of Ages.
None can escape from Adam's guilt, or second Adam's guerdon:
Sin and death are thine; thine also is interminable being:
Let it be even as thou wilt, still are we ransomed from nonentity,
The worlds of bliss and woe are peopled with immortals:
And ruin is thy blame; for thou, the worst, art free
To take from Heaven the grace of love, as the gift of life:
Yet is not remedy thy praise; for thou, the best, art bound
In self, and sin, and darkling sloth, until He break the chain:
None can tell, without a struggle, if that chain be broken;
Strive to-day,—one effort more may prove that thou art free!
Here is faith and prayer, here is the Grace and the Atonement,
Here is the creature feeling for its God, and the prodigal returning to his Father.
But, behold, His reasonable children, standing in just probation,
With ears to hear, neglect; with eyes to see, refuse:
They will not have the blessing with the life, the blessing that enricheth Immortality;
And look for pleasures out of God, for heaven in life alone:
So, they snatch that awful prize, existence void of love,
And in their darkening exile make a needful hell of self.
Thereforefear, thou sinner, lest the huge blessing, Immortality,Be blighted in thine evil to a curse,—it were better he had not been born:Therefore hope, thou saint, for the gift of Immortality is free;Take and live, and live in love; fear not, thou art redeemed!The happy life, that height of hope, the knowledge of all good,This is the blessing on obedience, obedience the child of faith:The miserable life, that depth of all despair, the knowledge of all evil,This is the curse upon impenitence, impenitence that sprung of unbelief.God, from a beautiful necessity, is Love in all He doeth,Love, a brilliant fire, to gladden or consume:The wicked work their woe by looking upon love, and hating it:The righteous find their joys in yearning on its loveliness for ever.
Thereforefear, thou sinner, lest the huge blessing, Immortality,
Be blighted in thine evil to a curse,—it were better he had not been born:
Therefore hope, thou saint, for the gift of Immortality is free;
Take and live, and live in love; fear not, thou art redeemed!
The happy life, that height of hope, the knowledge of all good,
This is the blessing on obedience, obedience the child of faith:
The miserable life, that depth of all despair, the knowledge of all evil,
This is the curse upon impenitence, impenitence that sprung of unbelief.
God, from a beautiful necessity, is Love in all He doeth,
Love, a brilliant fire, to gladden or consume:
The wicked work their woe by looking upon love, and hating it:
The righteous find their joys in yearning on its loveliness for ever.
Whoshall imagine Immortality, or picture its illimitable prospect?How feebly can a faltering tongue express the vast idea!For consider the primæval woods that bristle over broad Australia,And count their autumn leaves, millions multiplied by millions;Thence look up to a moonless sky from a sleeping isle of the Ægæan,And add to these leaves yon starry host, sparkling on the midnight numberless;Thence traverse an Arabia, some continent of eddying sand,Gather each grain, let none escape, add them to the leaves and to the stars;Afterward gaze upon the sea, the thousand leagues of an Atlantic,Take drop by drop, and add their sum, to the grains, and leaves, and stars;The drops of ocean, the desert sands, the leaves, and stars innumerable,(Albeit, in that multitude of multitudes, each small unit were an age,)All might reckon for an instant, a transient flash of Time,Compared with this intolerable blaze, the measureless enduring of Eternity!
Whoshall imagine Immortality, or picture its illimitable prospect?
How feebly can a faltering tongue express the vast idea!
For consider the primæval woods that bristle over broad Australia,
And count their autumn leaves, millions multiplied by millions;
Thence look up to a moonless sky from a sleeping isle of the Ægæan,
And add to these leaves yon starry host, sparkling on the midnight numberless;
Thence traverse an Arabia, some continent of eddying sand,
Gather each grain, let none escape, add them to the leaves and to the stars;
Afterward gaze upon the sea, the thousand leagues of an Atlantic,
Take drop by drop, and add their sum, to the grains, and leaves, and stars;
The drops of ocean, the desert sands, the leaves, and stars innumerable,
All might reckon for an instant, a transient flash of Time,
Compared with this intolerable blaze, the measureless enduring of Eternity!
O grandestgift of the Creator,—O largess worthy of a God,—Who shall grasp that thrilling thought, life and joy for ever?For the sun in heaven's heaven is Love that cannot change,And the shining of that sun is life, to all beneath its beams:Who shall arrest it in the firmament,—or drag it from its sphere?Or bid its beauty smile no more, but be extinct for ever?Yea, where God hath given, none shall take away,Nor build up limits to His love, nor bid His bounty cease;Wide, as space is peopled, endless as the empire of heaven,The river of the water of life floweth on in majesty for ever!
O grandestgift of the Creator,—O largess worthy of a God,—
Who shall grasp that thrilling thought, life and joy for ever?
For the sun in heaven's heaven is Love that cannot change,
And the shining of that sun is life, to all beneath its beams:
Who shall arrest it in the firmament,—or drag it from its sphere?
Or bid its beauty smile no more, but be extinct for ever?
Yea, where God hath given, none shall take away,
Nor build up limits to His love, nor bid His bounty cease;
Wide, as space is peopled, endless as the empire of heaven,
The river of the water of life floweth on in majesty for ever!
Whyshould it seem a thing impossible to thee, O man of many doubts,That God shall wake the dead, and give this mortal immortality?Is it that such riches are unsearchable, the bounty too profuse?And yet, what gift, to cease or change, is worthy of the King Almighty?For remember the moment thou art not, thou mightest as well not have been;A millennium and an hour are equal in the gulph of that desolate abyss, annihilation:If Adam had existed till to-day, and to-day had perished utterly,What were his gain in length of a life, that hath passed away for ever?No tribute of thanks can exhale from the empty censer of nonentity;The Giver, with His gift reclaimed, is mulcted of all praise.
Whyshould it seem a thing impossible to thee, O man of many doubts,
That God shall wake the dead, and give this mortal immortality?
Is it that such riches are unsearchable, the bounty too profuse?
And yet, what gift, to cease or change, is worthy of the King Almighty?
For remember the moment thou art not, thou mightest as well not have been;
A millennium and an hour are equal in the gulph of that desolate abyss, annihilation:
If Adam had existed till to-day, and to-day had perished utterly,
What were his gain in length of a life, that hath passed away for ever?
No tribute of thanks can exhale from the empty censer of nonentity;
The Giver, with His gift reclaimed, is mulcted of all praise.
Tellme, ye that strive in vain to cramp and dwarf the soul,Wherefore should it cease to be, and when shall essence die?It is,—and therefore shall be, till just obstacle opposeth:Show no cause for change, and reason leaneth to continuance.The body verily shall change; this curious house we live inNever had continuing stay, but changeth every instant:But the spiritual tenant of the house abideth in unalterable consciousness,He may fly to many lands, but cannot flee himself.The soil wherein ye drop the seed, by suns or rains may vary;But the seed is the same; and soul is the seed; and flesh but its anchorage to earth.
Tellme, ye that strive in vain to cramp and dwarf the soul,
Wherefore should it cease to be, and when shall essence die?
It is,—and therefore shall be, till just obstacle opposeth:
Show no cause for change, and reason leaneth to continuance.
The body verily shall change; this curious house we live in
Never had continuing stay, but changeth every instant:
But the spiritual tenant of the house abideth in unalterable consciousness,
He may fly to many lands, but cannot flee himself.
The soil wherein ye drop the seed, by suns or rains may vary;
But the seed is the same; and soul is the seed; and flesh but its anchorage to earth.
Themachine may be broken, and rust corrode the springs: but can rust feed on motion?Worms may batten on the brain: but can worms gnaw the mind?Dynamics are, and dwell apart, though matter be not made;Spirit is, and can be separate, though a body were not:Power is one, be it lever, screw, or wedge; but it needeth these for illustration:Mind is one, be it casual or ideal; but it is shown in these.The creature is constructed individual, for trial of his reasonable will,Clay and soul, commingled wisely, mingled not confused:As power is not in the spring, till somewhat give it action,So, until spirit be infused, the organism lieth inergetic.
Themachine may be broken, and rust corrode the springs: but can rust feed on motion?
Worms may batten on the brain: but can worms gnaw the mind?
Dynamics are, and dwell apart, though matter be not made;
Spirit is, and can be separate, though a body were not:
Power is one, be it lever, screw, or wedge; but it needeth these for illustration:
Mind is one, be it casual or ideal; but it is shown in these.
The creature is constructed individual, for trial of his reasonable will,
Clay and soul, commingled wisely, mingled not confused:
As power is not in the spring, till somewhat give it action,
So, until spirit be infused, the organism lieth inergetic.
Orshalt thou say that mind is the delicate offspring of matter,The bright consummate flower that must perish with its leaf?Go to: doth weight breed lightness? is freedom the atmosphere of prisons?When did the body elevate, expand, and bud the mind?Lo, a red-hot cinder flung from the furnaces of Ætna,—There is fire in that ash; but did the pumice make it?Nay, cold clod, never canst thou generate a flame,Nay, most exquisite machinery, nevermore elaborate a mind:Rather do ye battle and contend, opposite the one to the other;Till God shall stop the strife, and call the body colleague.
Orshalt thou say that mind is the delicate offspring of matter,
The bright consummate flower that must perish with its leaf?
Go to: doth weight breed lightness? is freedom the atmosphere of prisons?
When did the body elevate, expand, and bud the mind?
Lo, a red-hot cinder flung from the furnaces of Ætna,—
There is fire in that ash; but did the pumice make it?
Nay, cold clod, never canst thou generate a flame,
Nay, most exquisite machinery, nevermore elaborate a mind:
Rather do ye battle and contend, opposite the one to the other;
Till God shall stop the strife, and call the body colleague.
Garmentof flesh, and art thou then a vest, so tinged with subtle poison,(Maddening tunic of the centaur,) as to kill the soul?Not so: fruit of disobedience, rot in dissolution, as thou must,—The seed is in the core, its germ is safe, and life is in that germ:Moreover, Marah shall be sweetened; and a Good PhysicianYet shall heal those gangrene wounds, the spotted plague of sin:He, through worldly trials, and the separative cleansing of the grave,Shall change its corruptible to glory, and wash that garment white.
Garmentof flesh, and art thou then a vest, so tinged with subtle poison,
Not so: fruit of disobedience, rot in dissolution, as thou must,—
The seed is in the core, its germ is safe, and life is in that germ:
Moreover, Marah shall be sweetened; and a Good Physician
Yet shall heal those gangrene wounds, the spotted plague of sin:
He, through worldly trials, and the separative cleansing of the grave,
Shall change its corruptible to glory, and wash that garment white.
Still,is the whisper in thy heart, that oftenest the bed of deathSeemeth but a sluggish ebb, of sinking soul and body?Mind dwelling, long-time, sensual in the chambers of the flesh,May slumber on in conscious sloth, and wilfully be dulled:But is it therefore nigh to dissolution, even as the body of this death?Ask the stricken conscience, gasping out its terrors;Ask the dying miser, loth to leave his gold;Ask the widowed poor, confiding her fatherless to strangers;Ask the martyr-maid, a broken reed so strong,That weak and tortured frame, with triumph on its brow!—O thou gainsayer, the finger of disease may seem to reach the soul,But it is a spiritual touch, sympathy with that which aileth:Pain or fear may dislocate and shatter this delicate machinery of nerves;But madness proveth mind: the fault is in the engine, not the impetus:Dissipate the mists of matter, lo, the soul is clear:Timour's cage bowed it in the dust; but now it goeth forth a freedman.
Still,is the whisper in thy heart, that oftenest the bed of death
Seemeth but a sluggish ebb, of sinking soul and body?
Mind dwelling, long-time, sensual in the chambers of the flesh,
May slumber on in conscious sloth, and wilfully be dulled:
But is it therefore nigh to dissolution, even as the body of this death?
Ask the stricken conscience, gasping out its terrors;
Ask the dying miser, loth to leave his gold;
Ask the widowed poor, confiding her fatherless to strangers;
Ask the martyr-maid, a broken reed so strong,
That weak and tortured frame, with triumph on its brow!—
O thou gainsayer, the finger of disease may seem to reach the soul,
But it is a spiritual touch, sympathy with that which aileth:
Pain or fear may dislocate and shatter this delicate machinery of nerves;
But madness proveth mind: the fault is in the engine, not the impetus:
Dissipate the mists of matter, lo, the soul is clear:
Timour's cage bowed it in the dust; but now it goeth forth a freedman.
Yetmore, there is reason in moralities, that the soul must live;If God be king in heaven, or have care for earth.Can wickedness have triumphed with impunity, or virtue toiled unseen?Shall cruelty torture unavenged, and the innocent complain unheard?Is there no recompense for woe, must there be no other world for justice,—No hope in setting suns of good, nor terror for the evil at its zenith?How shall ye make answer unto this; a just God prospering iniquity,Wisdom encouraging the foolish, and goodness abetting the depraved!
Yetmore, there is reason in moralities, that the soul must live;
If God be king in heaven, or have care for earth.
Can wickedness have triumphed with impunity, or virtue toiled unseen?
Shall cruelty torture unavenged, and the innocent complain unheard?
Is there no recompense for woe, must there be no other world for justice,—
No hope in setting suns of good, nor terror for the evil at its zenith?
How shall ye make answer unto this; a just God prospering iniquity,
Wisdom encouraging the foolish, and goodness abetting the depraved!
Yetagain; mine erring brother, pardon this abundance of my speech,Yield me thy candour and thy charity, listening with a welcome:For, even now, a thousand thoughts are trooping to my theme;O mighty theme, O feeble thoughts! Alas! who is sufficient?Judge not so high a cause by these poor words alone,For lo, the advocate hath little skill: pardon and pass on:Certify thyself with surer proofs; fledge thine own mind for flight;Think, and pray; those better proofs shall follow on with holy aspiration.Yet in my humbler grade to help thy weal and comfort,Thy weal for this and higher worlds, and comfort in thy sickness,Suffer the multitude of fancies, walking with me still in love;But tread in fear, it is holy ground,—remember, Immortality!
Yetagain; mine erring brother, pardon this abundance of my speech,
Yield me thy candour and thy charity, listening with a welcome:
For, even now, a thousand thoughts are trooping to my theme;
O mighty theme, O feeble thoughts! Alas! who is sufficient?
Judge not so high a cause by these poor words alone,
For lo, the advocate hath little skill: pardon and pass on:
Certify thyself with surer proofs; fledge thine own mind for flight;
Think, and pray; those better proofs shall follow on with holy aspiration.
Yet in my humbler grade to help thy weal and comfort,
Thy weal for this and higher worlds, and comfort in thy sickness,
Suffer the multitude of fancies, walking with me still in love;
But tread in fear, it is holy ground,—remember, Immortality!
Wiltthou argue from infirmities, thine abject evil state,As how should stricken wretched man indeed exist for ever:The brutal and besotted, the savage and the slave, the sucking infant and the idiot,The mass of mean and common minds, and all to be immortal?—Consider every beginning, how small it is and feeble:Ganges, and the rolling Mississippi sprung of brooks among the mountains;The Yew-tree of a thousand years was once a little seed,And Nero's marble Rome, a shepherd's mud-built hovel:A speck is on the tropic sky, and it groweth to the terrible tornado;An apple, all too fair to see, destroyed a world of souls:A tender babe is born,—it is Attila, scourge of the nations!A seeming malefactor dieth,—it is Jesus, the Saviour of men!
Wiltthou argue from infirmities, thine abject evil state,
As how should stricken wretched man indeed exist for ever:
The brutal and besotted, the savage and the slave, the sucking infant and the idiot,
The mass of mean and common minds, and all to be immortal?—
Consider every beginning, how small it is and feeble:
Ganges, and the rolling Mississippi sprung of brooks among the mountains;
The Yew-tree of a thousand years was once a little seed,
And Nero's marble Rome, a shepherd's mud-built hovel:
A speck is on the tropic sky, and it groweth to the terrible tornado;
An apple, all too fair to see, destroyed a world of souls:
A tender babe is born,—it is Attila, scourge of the nations!
A seeming malefactor dieth,—it is Jesus, the Saviour of men!
Andhive not in thy thoughts the vain and wordy notionThat nothing which was born in Time can tire out the footsteps of Infinity:Reckon up a sum in numbers; where shall progression stop?The starting-post is definite and fixed, but what is the goal of numeration?So, begin upon a moment, and when shall being end?Souls emanate from God, to travel with Him equally for ever.Moreover, thou that objectest the unenterable circle of eternity,That none but He from everlasting can endure, as to a future everlasting,Consider, may it be impossible that creatures were counted in their Maker,And so, that the confines of Eternity are filled by God alone?Trust not thy soul upon a fancy: who would freight a bubble with a diamond,And launch that priceless gem on the boiling rapids of a cataract?
Andhive not in thy thoughts the vain and wordy notion
That nothing which was born in Time can tire out the footsteps of Infinity:
Reckon up a sum in numbers; where shall progression stop?
The starting-post is definite and fixed, but what is the goal of numeration?
So, begin upon a moment, and when shall being end?
Souls emanate from God, to travel with Him equally for ever.
Moreover, thou that objectest the unenterable circle of eternity,
That none but He from everlasting can endure, as to a future everlasting,
Consider, may it be impossible that creatures were counted in their Maker,
And so, that the confines of Eternity are filled by God alone?
Trust not thy soul upon a fancy: who would freight a bubble with a diamond,
And launch that priceless gem on the boiling rapids of a cataract?
Ifthen we perish not at death, but walk in spirit through the darkness,Waiting for a mansion incorruptible, whereof this body is the seed,Tell me, when shall be the period? time and its ordeals are done:The storms are passed, the night is at end, behold the Sabbath morning.Is death to be conqueror again, and claim once more the victory,—Can the enemy's corpse awaken into life, and bruise the Champion's head?Evil, terrible ensample, that foil to the attributes of Good,Is banished to its own black world, weeded out of earth and heaven:Shall that great gulf be passed, and sin be sown again?—We know but this, the book of truth proclaimeth gladly, Never!
Ifthen we perish not at death, but walk in spirit through the darkness,
Waiting for a mansion incorruptible, whereof this body is the seed,
Tell me, when shall be the period? time and its ordeals are done:
The storms are passed, the night is at end, behold the Sabbath morning.
Is death to be conqueror again, and claim once more the victory,—
Can the enemy's corpse awaken into life, and bruise the Champion's head?
Evil, terrible ensample, that foil to the attributes of Good,
Is banished to its own black world, weeded out of earth and heaven:
Shall that great gulf be passed, and sin be sown again?—
We know but this, the book of truth proclaimeth gladly, Never!
Thereremaineth the will of our God: when He repenteth of His creature,Made by self-suggested mercy, ransomed by self-sacrificing justice,—When Truth, that swore unto his neighbour, disappointeth him, and cleaveth to a lie,—When the counsels of Wisdom are confounded, and Love warreth with itself,—When the Unchangeable is changed, and the arm of Omnipotence is broken,—Then,—thy quenchless soul shall have reached the goal of its existence.
Thereremaineth the will of our God: when He repenteth of His creature,
Made by self-suggested mercy, ransomed by self-sacrificing justice,—
When Truth, that swore unto his neighbour, disappointeth him, and cleaveth to a lie,—
When the counsels of Wisdom are confounded, and Love warreth with itself,—
When the Unchangeable is changed, and the arm of Omnipotence is broken,—
Then,—thy quenchless soul shall have reached the goal of its existence.
Butit seemeth to thy notions of the merciful and just, a false and fearful thing,To lay such a burden upon time, that eternity be built on its foundation:As if so casual good or ill should colour all the future,And the vanity of accident, or sternness of necessity, save or wreck a soul.Were it casual, vain, or stern, this might pass for truth:But all things are marshalled by Design, and carefully tended by Benevolence.O man, thy Judge is righteous,—noting, remembering, and weighing;—Want, ignorance, diversities of state, are cast into the balance of advantage:The poisonous example of a parent asketh for allowance in the child;Care, diseases, toils, and frailties,—all things are considered.And again, a mysterious Omniscience knoweth the spirits that are His,While the delicate tissues of Event are woven by the fingers of Ubiquity.Should Providence be taken by surprise from the possible impinging of an accident,One fortuitous grain might dislocate the banded universe:The merest seeming trifle is ordered as the morning light;And He, that rideth on the hurricane, is pilot of the bubble on the breaker.
Butit seemeth to thy notions of the merciful and just, a false and fearful thing,
To lay such a burden upon time, that eternity be built on its foundation:
As if so casual good or ill should colour all the future,
And the vanity of accident, or sternness of necessity, save or wreck a soul.
Were it casual, vain, or stern, this might pass for truth:
But all things are marshalled by Design, and carefully tended by Benevolence.
O man, thy Judge is righteous,—noting, remembering, and weighing;—
Want, ignorance, diversities of state, are cast into the balance of advantage:
The poisonous example of a parent asketh for allowance in the child;
Care, diseases, toils, and frailties,—all things are considered.
And again, a mysterious Omniscience knoweth the spirits that are His,
While the delicate tissues of Event are woven by the fingers of Ubiquity.
Should Providence be taken by surprise from the possible impinging of an accident,
One fortuitous grain might dislocate the banded universe:
The merest seeming trifle is ordered as the morning light;
And He, that rideth on the hurricane, is pilot of the bubble on the breaker.
Oncemore, consider Matter, how small a thing is father to the greatest;Thou that lightly hast regarded the results of so-called accident.A blade of grass took fire in the sun,—and the prairies are burnt to the horizon:A grain of sand may blind the eye, and madden the brain to murder:A careful fly deposited its egg in the swelling bud of an acorn,—The sapling grew,—cankrous and gnarled,—it is yonder hollow oak:A child touched a spring, and the spring closed a valve, and the labouring engine burst,—A thousand lives were in that ship,—wrecked by an infant's finger!Shall nature preach in vain? thy casualty, guided in its orbit,Though less than a mote upon the sunbeam, saileth in a fleet of worlds;That trivial cause, watered and observed of the Husbandman day by day,—In calm undeviating strength doth work its large effect.Thus, in the pettiness of life note thou seeds of grandeur,And watch the hour-glass of Time with the eyes of an heir of Immortality.
Oncemore, consider Matter, how small a thing is father to the greatest;
Thou that lightly hast regarded the results of so-called accident.
A blade of grass took fire in the sun,—and the prairies are burnt to the horizon:
A grain of sand may blind the eye, and madden the brain to murder:
A careful fly deposited its egg in the swelling bud of an acorn,—
The sapling grew,—cankrous and gnarled,—it is yonder hollow oak:
A child touched a spring, and the spring closed a valve, and the labouring engine burst,—
A thousand lives were in that ship,—wrecked by an infant's finger!
Shall nature preach in vain? thy casualty, guided in its orbit,
Though less than a mote upon the sunbeam, saileth in a fleet of worlds;
That trivial cause, watered and observed of the Husbandman day by day,—
In calm undeviating strength doth work its large effect.
Thus, in the pettiness of life note thou seeds of grandeur,
And watch the hour-glass of Time with the eyes of an heir of Immortality.
Therestill be clouds of witnesses,—if thou art not weary of my speech,—Flocks of thoughts adding lustre to the light, and pointing on to Life.For reflect how Truth and Goodness, well and wisely put,Commend themselves to every mind with wondrous intuition:What is this? the recognition of a standard, unwritten, natural, uniform;Telling of one common source, the root of Good and True.And if thus present soul can trace descent from Deity,Being, as it standeth, individual, a separate reasonable thing,What should hinder that its hope may not trace gladly forward,And, in astounding parallel, like Enoch walk with God?Yea, the genealogy of soul, that vivifying breath of a Creator,Breath, no transient air, but essence, energy, and reason,Is looming on the past, and shadowing the future, sublimely as Melchisedek of old,Having not beginning, nor end of days, but present in the majesty of Peace!
Therestill be clouds of witnesses,—if thou art not weary of my speech,—
Flocks of thoughts adding lustre to the light, and pointing on to Life.
For reflect how Truth and Goodness, well and wisely put,
Commend themselves to every mind with wondrous intuition:
What is this? the recognition of a standard, unwritten, natural, uniform;
Telling of one common source, the root of Good and True.
And if thus present soul can trace descent from Deity,
Being, as it standeth, individual, a separate reasonable thing,
What should hinder that its hope may not trace gladly forward,
And, in astounding parallel, like Enoch walk with God?
Yea, the genealogy of soul, that vivifying breath of a Creator,
Breath, no transient air, but essence, energy, and reason,
Is looming on the past, and shadowing the future, sublimely as Melchisedek of old,
Having not beginning, nor end of days, but present in the majesty of Peace!
O falsescholar, credulous in vanities, and only sceptical of truth,Wherefore toil to cheat thy soul of its birthright, Immortality?Is it for thy guilt? He pardoneth: Is it for thy frailty? He will help:Though thou fearest, He is love; and Mercy shall be deeper than Despair:Even for thy full-blown pride, is it much to be receiver of a God?And lo, thy rights, He made thee; thy claims, He hath redeemed.Hath the fair aspect of affection no beauty that thou shouldst desire it?And are those sorrows nothing, to thee that passest by?For it is Fact, immutable, that God hath dwelt in Man:With gentle generous love ennobling while He bought us.What, though thou art false, ignorant, weak and daring,—Can the sun be quenched in heaven—or only Belisarius be blind?
O falsescholar, credulous in vanities, and only sceptical of truth,
Wherefore toil to cheat thy soul of its birthright, Immortality?
Is it for thy guilt? He pardoneth: Is it for thy frailty? He will help:
Though thou fearest, He is love; and Mercy shall be deeper than Despair:
Even for thy full-blown pride, is it much to be receiver of a God?
And lo, thy rights, He made thee; thy claims, He hath redeemed.
Hath the fair aspect of affection no beauty that thou shouldst desire it?
And are those sorrows nothing, to thee that passest by?
For it is Fact, immutable, that God hath dwelt in Man:
With gentle generous love ennobling while He bought us.
What, though thou art false, ignorant, weak and daring,—
Can the sun be quenched in heaven—or only Belisarius be blind?
But,even stooping to thy folly, grant all these hopes are vain;Stultify reason, wrestle against conscience, and wither up the heart:Where is thy vast advantage?—I have all that thou hast,The buoyancy of life as strong, and term of days no shorter;My cup is full with gladness, my griefs are not more galling:And thus, we walk together, even to the gates of death:There, (if not also on my journey, blessing every step,Gladdening with light, and quickening with love, and killing all my cares,)There,—while thou art quailing, or sullenly expecting to be nothing,—There,—is found my gain; I triumph, where thou tremblest.Grant all my solace is a lie, yet it is a fountain of delight,A spice in every pleasure, and a balm for every pain:O precious wise delusion, scattering both misery and sin,—O vile and silly truth, depraving while it curseth!
But,even stooping to thy folly, grant all these hopes are vain;
Stultify reason, wrestle against conscience, and wither up the heart:
Where is thy vast advantage?—I have all that thou hast,
The buoyancy of life as strong, and term of days no shorter;
My cup is full with gladness, my griefs are not more galling:
And thus, we walk together, even to the gates of death:
There, (if not also on my journey, blessing every step,
Gladdening with light, and quickening with love, and killing all my cares,)
There,—while thou art quailing, or sullenly expecting to be nothing,—
There,—is found my gain; I triumph, where thou tremblest.
Grant all my solace is a lie, yet it is a fountain of delight,
A spice in every pleasure, and a balm for every pain:
O precious wise delusion, scattering both misery and sin,—
O vile and silly truth, depraving while it curseth!
Darklingchild of knowledge, commune with Socrates and Cicero,They had no prejudice of birth, no dull parental warpings;See, those lustrous minds anticipate the dawning day,—Whilst thou, poor mole, art burrowing back to darkness from the light.I will not urge a revelation, mercies, miracles, and martyrs,But, after twice a thousand years, go, learn thou of the pagan:It were happier and wiser even among fools, to cling to the shadow of a hope,Than, in the company of sages, to win the substance of despair;But here, the sages hope; despair is with the fools,The base bad hearts, the stolid heads, the sensual and the selfish.
Darklingchild of knowledge, commune with Socrates and Cicero,
They had no prejudice of birth, no dull parental warpings;
See, those lustrous minds anticipate the dawning day,—
Whilst thou, poor mole, art burrowing back to darkness from the light.
I will not urge a revelation, mercies, miracles, and martyrs,
But, after twice a thousand years, go, learn thou of the pagan:
It were happier and wiser even among fools, to cling to the shadow of a hope,
Than, in the company of sages, to win the substance of despair;
But here, the sages hope; despair is with the fools,
The base bad hearts, the stolid heads, the sensual and the selfish.
Andwilt thou, sorry scorner, mock the phrase, despair?Despair for those who die and live,—for me, I live and die:What have I to do with dread?—my taper must go out;—I nurse no silly hopes, and therefore feel no fears:I am hastening to an end.—O false and feeble answer:For hope is in thee still, and fear, a racking deep anxiety.Erring brother, listen: and take thine answer from the ancients:Consider every end, that it is but the end of a beginning.All things work in circles; weariness induceth unto rest,Rest invigorateth labour, and labour causeth weariness:War produceth peace, and peace is wanton unto war:Light dieth into darkness, and night dawneth into day:The rotting jungle reeds scatter fertility around;The buffalo's dead carcase hath quickened life in millions:The end of toil is gain, the end of gain is pleasure,Pleasure tendeth unto waste, and waste commandeth toil.
Andwilt thou, sorry scorner, mock the phrase, despair?
Despair for those who die and live,—for me, I live and die:
What have I to do with dread?—my taper must go out;—
I nurse no silly hopes, and therefore feel no fears:
I am hastening to an end.—O false and feeble answer:
For hope is in thee still, and fear, a racking deep anxiety.
Erring brother, listen: and take thine answer from the ancients:
Consider every end, that it is but the end of a beginning.
All things work in circles; weariness induceth unto rest,
Rest invigorateth labour, and labour causeth weariness:
War produceth peace, and peace is wanton unto war:
Light dieth into darkness, and night dawneth into day:
The rotting jungle reeds scatter fertility around;
The buffalo's dead carcase hath quickened life in millions:
The end of toil is gain, the end of gain is pleasure,
Pleasure tendeth unto waste, and waste commandeth toil.
So,is death an end,—but it breedeth an infinite beginning;Limits are for time, and death killed time: Eternity's beginning is for ever.Ambition, hath it any goal indeed? is not all fruition, disappointment?A step upon the ladder, and another, and another,—we start from every end?Look to the eras of mortality, babe, student, man,The husband, the father, the death-bed of a saint,—and is it then an end?That common climax, Death, shall it lead to nothing?How strong a root of causes flowering a consequence of vapour:That solid chain of facts, is it to be snapped for ever?How stout a show of figures, weakly summing to nonentity.
So,is death an end,—but it breedeth an infinite beginning;
Limits are for time, and death killed time: Eternity's beginning is for ever.
Ambition, hath it any goal indeed? is not all fruition, disappointment?
A step upon the ladder, and another, and another,—we start from every end?
Look to the eras of mortality, babe, student, man,
The husband, the father, the death-bed of a saint,—and is it then an end?
That common climax, Death, shall it lead to nothing?
How strong a root of causes flowering a consequence of vapour:
That solid chain of facts, is it to be snapped for ever?
How stout a show of figures, weakly summing to nonentity.
Orhaply, Death, in the doublings of thy thought, shall seem continuous ending;A dull eternal slumber, not an end abrupt.O most futile chrysalis, wherefore dost thou sleep?Dreamless, unconscious, never to awake,—what object in such slumber?If thou art still to live, it may as well be wakefully as sleeping:How grovelling must that spirit be, to need eternal sleep!Or was indeed the toil of life so heavy and so long,That nevermore can rest refresh thine overburdened soul?—Sleep is a recreance to body, but when was mind asleep?Even in a swoon it dreameth, though all be forgotten afterward:The muscles seek relaxing, and the irritable nerves ask peace;But life is a constant force, spirit an unquietable impetus:The eye may wear out as a telescope, and the brain work slow as a machine,But soul unwearied, and for ever, is capable of effort unimpaired.
Orhaply, Death, in the doublings of thy thought, shall seem continuous ending;
A dull eternal slumber, not an end abrupt.
O most futile chrysalis, wherefore dost thou sleep?
Dreamless, unconscious, never to awake,—what object in such slumber?
If thou art still to live, it may as well be wakefully as sleeping:
How grovelling must that spirit be, to need eternal sleep!
Or was indeed the toil of life so heavy and so long,
That nevermore can rest refresh thine overburdened soul?—
Sleep is a recreance to body, but when was mind asleep?
Even in a swoon it dreameth, though all be forgotten afterward:
The muscles seek relaxing, and the irritable nerves ask peace;
But life is a constant force, spirit an unquietable impetus:
The eye may wear out as a telescope, and the brain work slow as a machine,
But soul unwearied, and for ever, is capable of effort unimpaired.
I live,move, am conscious: what shall bar my being?Where is the rude hand, to rend this tissue of existence?Not thine, shadowy Death, what art thou but a phantom?Not thine, foul Corruption, what art thou but a fear?For death is merely absent life, as darkness absent light;Not even a suspension, for the life hath sailed away, steering gladly somewhere.And corruption, closely noted, is but a dissolving of the parts,The parts remain, and nothing lost, to build a better whole.Moreover, mind is unity, however versatile and rapid;Thou canst not entertain two coincident ideas, although they quickly follow:And Unity hath no parts, so that there is nothing to dissolve:An element is still unchanged in every searching solvent.Who then shall bid me be annulled,—He that gave me being?Amen, if God so will; I know that will is love:But love hath promised life, and therefore I shall live;So long as He is God, I shall be His Creature!
I live,move, am conscious: what shall bar my being?
Where is the rude hand, to rend this tissue of existence?
Not thine, shadowy Death, what art thou but a phantom?
Not thine, foul Corruption, what art thou but a fear?
For death is merely absent life, as darkness absent light;
Not even a suspension, for the life hath sailed away, steering gladly somewhere.
And corruption, closely noted, is but a dissolving of the parts,
The parts remain, and nothing lost, to build a better whole.
Moreover, mind is unity, however versatile and rapid;
Thou canst not entertain two coincident ideas, although they quickly follow:
And Unity hath no parts, so that there is nothing to dissolve:
An element is still unchanged in every searching solvent.
Who then shall bid me be annulled,—He that gave me being?
Amen, if God so will; I know that will is love:
But love hath promised life, and therefore I shall live;
So long as He is God, I shall be His Creature!
Andhere, shrewd reasoner, so eager to prove that thou must perish,I note a sneer upon thy lip, and ridicule is haply on thy tongue:How, said he,—creature of a God, and are not all His creatures,—The lion, and the gnat,—yea, the mushroom, and the crystal,—have all these a soul?Thy fancies tend to prove too much, and overshoot the mark:If I die not with brutes, then brutes must live with me?—I dare not tell thee that they will, for the word is not in my commission;But of the twain it is the likelier; continuance is the chance:Men, dying in their sins, are likened unto beasts that perish;They are dark, animal, insensate, but have they not a lurking soul?The spirit of a man goeth upward, reasonable, apprehending God;The spirit of a beast goeth downward, sensual, doting on the creature:Who told thee they die at dissolution?—boldly think it out,—The multitude of flies, and the multitude of herbs, the world with all its beings:Is Infinity too narrow, Omnipotence too weak, and Love so anxious to destroy,Doth Wisdom change its plan, and a Maker cancel His created?God's will may compass all things, to fashion and to nullify at pleasure:Yet are there many thoughts of hope, that all which are shall live.True, there is no conscience in the brute, beyond some educated habit,They lay them down without a fear, and wake without a hope:Hunger and pain is of the animal: but when did they reckon or compare?They live, idealess, in instinct; and while they breathe they gain:The master is an idol to his dog, who cannot rise beyond him;And void of capability for God, there would seem small cause for an infinity.Therefore, caviller, my poor thoughts dare not grant they live:But is it not a great thing to assume their annihilation—and thine own?Would it be much if a speck on space, this globe with all its millions,Verily, after its pollution, were suffered to exist in purity?Or much, if guiltless creatures, that were cruelly entreated upon earth,Found some commensurate reward in lower joys hereafter?Or much, if a Creator, prodigal of life, and filled with the profundity of love,Rejoice in all creatures of His skill, and lead them to perfection in their kind?O man, there are many marvels; yet life is more a mystery than death:For death may be some stagnant life,—but life is present God!
Andhere, shrewd reasoner, so eager to prove that thou must perish,
I note a sneer upon thy lip, and ridicule is haply on thy tongue:
How, said he,—creature of a God, and are not all His creatures,—
The lion, and the gnat,—yea, the mushroom, and the crystal,—have all these a soul?
Thy fancies tend to prove too much, and overshoot the mark:
If I die not with brutes, then brutes must live with me?—
I dare not tell thee that they will, for the word is not in my commission;
But of the twain it is the likelier; continuance is the chance:
Men, dying in their sins, are likened unto beasts that perish;
They are dark, animal, insensate, but have they not a lurking soul?
The spirit of a man goeth upward, reasonable, apprehending God;
The spirit of a beast goeth downward, sensual, doting on the creature:
Who told thee they die at dissolution?—boldly think it out,—
The multitude of flies, and the multitude of herbs, the world with all its beings:
Is Infinity too narrow, Omnipotence too weak, and Love so anxious to destroy,
Doth Wisdom change its plan, and a Maker cancel His created?
God's will may compass all things, to fashion and to nullify at pleasure:
Yet are there many thoughts of hope, that all which are shall live.
True, there is no conscience in the brute, beyond some educated habit,
They lay them down without a fear, and wake without a hope:
Hunger and pain is of the animal: but when did they reckon or compare?
They live, idealess, in instinct; and while they breathe they gain:
The master is an idol to his dog, who cannot rise beyond him;
And void of capability for God, there would seem small cause for an infinity.
Therefore, caviller, my poor thoughts dare not grant they live:
But is it not a great thing to assume their annihilation—and thine own?
Would it be much if a speck on space, this globe with all its millions,
Verily, after its pollution, were suffered to exist in purity?
Or much, if guiltless creatures, that were cruelly entreated upon earth,
Found some commensurate reward in lower joys hereafter?
Or much, if a Creator, prodigal of life, and filled with the profundity of love,
Rejoice in all creatures of His skill, and lead them to perfection in their kind?
O man, there are many marvels; yet life is more a mystery than death:
For death may be some stagnant life,—but life is present God!
Manyare the lurking-holes of evil; who shall search them out?Who so skilled to cut away the cancer with its fibres?For wily minds with sinuous ease escape from lie to lie;And cowards driven from the trench steal back to hide again.Vain were the battle, if a warrior, having slain his foes,Shall turn and find them vital still, unharmed, yea, unashamed:For Error, dark magician, daily cast out killed,Quickeneth animate anew beneath the midnight moon:Once and again, once and again, hath reason answered wisely;But not the less with brazen front doth folly urge her questions.It were but unprofitable toil, a stand-up fight with unbelief:When was there candour in a caviller, and who can satisfy the faithless?Too long, O truant from the fold, have I tracked thy devious paths;Too long, treacherous deserter, fought thee as a noble foeman:Haply, my small art, and an arm too weakly for its weapon,Hath failed to pierce thine iron coat, and reach thy stricken soul:Haply, the fervour of my speech, and too patient sifting of thy fancies,Shall tend to make thee prize them more, as worthier and wiser:Go to: be mine the gain: we measure swords no more;Go,—and a word go with thee,—Man, thouARTImmortal!
Manyare the lurking-holes of evil; who shall search them out?
Who so skilled to cut away the cancer with its fibres?
For wily minds with sinuous ease escape from lie to lie;
And cowards driven from the trench steal back to hide again.
Vain were the battle, if a warrior, having slain his foes,
Shall turn and find them vital still, unharmed, yea, unashamed:
For Error, dark magician, daily cast out killed,
Quickeneth animate anew beneath the midnight moon:
Once and again, once and again, hath reason answered wisely;
But not the less with brazen front doth folly urge her questions.
It were but unprofitable toil, a stand-up fight with unbelief:
When was there candour in a caviller, and who can satisfy the faithless?
Too long, O truant from the fold, have I tracked thy devious paths;
Too long, treacherous deserter, fought thee as a noble foeman:
Haply, my small art, and an arm too weakly for its weapon,
Hath failed to pierce thine iron coat, and reach thy stricken soul:
Haply, the fervour of my speech, and too patient sifting of thy fancies,
Shall tend to make thee prize them more, as worthier and wiser:
Go to: be mine the gain: we measure swords no more;
Go,—and a word go with thee,—Man, thouARTImmortal!
Childof light, and student in the truth, too long have I forgotten thee:Lo, after parley with an alien, let me hold sweet converse with a brother.Glorious hopes and ineffable imaginings, crowd our holy theme,Fear hath been slaughtered on the portal, and Doubt driven back to darkness:For Christ hath died, and we in Him; by faith His All is ours;Cross and crown, and love, and life; and we shall reign in Him!Yea, there is a fitness and a beauty in ascribing immortality to mind,That its energies and lofty aspirations may have scope for indefinite expansion.To learn all things is privilege of reason, and that with a growing capability,But in this age of toil and time we scarce attain to alphabets:How hardly in the midst of our hurry, and jostled by the cares of life,Shall a man turn and stop to consider mighty secrets;With barely hours, and barely powers, to fill up daily duties,How small the glimpse of knowledge his wondering eye can catch!And knowledge is a noting of the order wherein God's attributes evolve,Therefore worthy of the creature, worthy of an angel's seeking;Yea, and human knowledge, meagre though the harvest,Hath its roots, both deep and strong; but the plants are exotic to the climate;All we seem to know demand a longer learning,History and science, and prophecy and art, are workings all of God:And there are galaxies of globes, millions of unimagined beings,Other senses, wondrous sounds, and thoughts of thrilling fire,Powers of strange might, quickening unknown elements,And attributes and energies of God which man may never guess.
Childof light, and student in the truth, too long have I forgotten thee:
Lo, after parley with an alien, let me hold sweet converse with a brother.
Glorious hopes and ineffable imaginings, crowd our holy theme,
Fear hath been slaughtered on the portal, and Doubt driven back to darkness:
For Christ hath died, and we in Him; by faith His All is ours;
Cross and crown, and love, and life; and we shall reign in Him!
Yea, there is a fitness and a beauty in ascribing immortality to mind,
That its energies and lofty aspirations may have scope for indefinite expansion.
To learn all things is privilege of reason, and that with a growing capability,
But in this age of toil and time we scarce attain to alphabets:
How hardly in the midst of our hurry, and jostled by the cares of life,
Shall a man turn and stop to consider mighty secrets;
With barely hours, and barely powers, to fill up daily duties,
How small the glimpse of knowledge his wondering eye can catch!
And knowledge is a noting of the order wherein God's attributes evolve,
Therefore worthy of the creature, worthy of an angel's seeking;
Yea, and human knowledge, meagre though the harvest,
Hath its roots, both deep and strong; but the plants are exotic to the climate;
All we seem to know demand a longer learning,
History and science, and prophecy and art, are workings all of God:
And there are galaxies of globes, millions of unimagined beings,
Other senses, wondrous sounds, and thoughts of thrilling fire,
Powers of strange might, quickening unknown elements,
And attributes and energies of God which man may never guess.