The unknown from the known. The tenuous rim where the Seen grows dim I have ridden the wind, I have ridden the sea, I have ridden the moon and stars, I have set my feet in the stirrup seat And everywhere, Thro' earth and air My thought speeds, lightning-shod, It comes to a place where checking pace It calls me out of the darkness, It calls me out of sleep, "Ride, ride! for you must, to the end of Dust!" It bids—and on I sweep To the wide outposts of Being Where there is Gulf alone And thro' a vast that was never passed I listen for Life's tone. I have ridden the wind I have ridden the night, I have ridden the ghosts that flee From the vaults of death like a chilling breath Over eternity. And everywhere Is the world laid bare Ether and star and clod Until I wind to its brink and find It calls me and ever calls me! And vainly I reply, "Fools only ride where the ways divide What Is from the Whence and Why!" I'm lifted into the saddle Of thoughts too strong to tame And down the deeps and over the steeps I find-ever the same. I have ridden the wind, I have ridden the stars I have ridden the force that flies With far intent through the firmament And everywhere That a thought may dare To gallop, mine has trod— Only to stand at last on the strand Where just beyond lies God. THE SEEKERS VICTOR STARBUCK One asked a sign from God; and day by day Each night the stars appeared in bright array, One longed to hear a prophet; and he strayed He saw the farmer sow his acres wide, One prayed a sight of heaven; and erewhile THE CATTLE OF HIS HAND WILBUR UNDERWOOD All night long, through the starlit air and the stillness, Through the wanness of dawn and the burning of noontide, Onward we strain with a mighty resounding of hoof-beats. Heaven and earth are ashake with the terrible trampling; Hushed is the dark to hear the plaint of our lowing, Faint to death with thirst and the gnawing of hunger. Day by day through the dust and the heat have we thirsted; Day by day through stony ways have we hungered; Naught but a few bitter herbs that grew by the wayside. What we flee that is far behind in the darkness, Where the place of abiding for us, we know not; Many a weary day must pass ere we hear it, Blown on the winds, now close, now far in the distance, He it is who drives us and urges us always, Ever we long and cry for rest, but it comes not; And some fall down with a plaintive moaning and perish; Then when we know His Presence the hard way lightens; What we flee that is far behind in the darkness, Heaven and earth are ashake with the terrible trampling, All night long through the star-lit air and the stillness, c. THE SEARCH IS ITS OWN REWARD A GRAMMARIAN'S FUNERAL ROBERT BROWNING (Shortly after the Revival of Learning in Europe) Let us begin and carry up this corpse, Singing together. Leave we the common crofts, the vulgar thorpes, Sleeping safe on the bosom of the plain, Cared-for till cock-crow: Look out if yonder be not day again Rimming the rock-row! That's the appropriate country; there, man's thought, Self-gathered for an outbreak, as it ought, Chafes in the censer. Till lo, the little touch, and youth was gone! Moaned he, "New measures, other feet anon! No, that's the world's way; (keep the mountainside, He knew the signal, and stepped on with pride Over men's pity; Left play for work, and grappled with the world Bent on escaping: "What's in the scroll," quoth he, "thou keepest furled? Show me their shaping, Theirs who most studied man, the bard and sage,— Straight got by heart that book to its last page: Yea, but we found him bald too, eyes like lead, "Time to taste life," another would have said, This man said rather, "Actual life comes next? Grant I have mastered learning's crabbed text, Let me know all! Prate not of most or least, Even to the crumbs I'd fain eat up the feast, Oh, such a life as he resolved to live, When he had learned it, When he had gathered all books had to give! Quite, ere you build, ere steel strikes fire from quartz, Ere mortar dab brick! (Here's the town-gate reached; there's the market-place Gaping before us.) Yea, this in him was the peculiar grace (Hearten our chorus!) |