« AnteriorContinuar »
“Two words, indeed, of praying we remember,
And at midnight's hour of harm,
We say softly for a charm.
And we think that, in some pause of angels' song, God may pluck them with the silence sweet to gather,
And hold both within His right hand which is strong. 'Our Father! If He heard us, He would surely
(For they call Him good and mild) Answer, smiling down the steep world very purely,
‘Come and rest with me, my child.' “But, no!" say the children, weeping faster,
“He is speechless as a stone:
Who commands us to work on.
Dark, wheel-like, turning clouds are all we find. Do not mock us; grief has made us unbelieving:
We look up for God, but tears have made us blind.” Do
you hear the children weeping and disproving,
O my brothers, what ye preach?
And the children doubt of each.
And well may the children weep before you!
They are weary ere they run;
Which is brighter than the sun.
They sink in man's despair, without its calm;
Are martyrs, by the pang without the palm: Are worn as if with age, yet unretrievingly
The harvest of its memories cannot reap, Are orphans of the earthly love and heavenly:
Let them weep! let them weep!
They look up with their pale and sunken faces,
And their look is dread to see,
With eyes turned on Deity.
Will you stand, to move the world, on a child's
heart, Stifle down with a mailed heel its palpitation,
And tread onward to your throne amid the mart? Our blood splashes upward, O gold-heaper,
And your purple shows your path!
Than the strong man in his wrath."
PATIENCE TAUGHT BY NATURE.
[Poems 1844.] “O DREARY life,” we cry, “O dreary life!” And still the generations of the birds Sing through our sighing, and the flocks and herds Serenely live while we are keeping strife With Heaven's true purpose in us, as a knife Against which we may struggle! Ocean girds Unslackened the dry land, savannah-swards Unweary sweep, hills watch unworn, and rife Meek leaves drop yearly from the forest-trees To show, above, the unwasted stars that pass In their old glory: 0 thou God of old, Grant me some smaller grace than comes to these!— But so much patience as a blade of grass Grows by, contented through the heat and cold.
[Poems 1844.] I HAVE been in the meadows all the day And gathered there the nosegay that you see,
Singing within myself as bird or bee
[Poems 1844.] WHEN some beloved voice that was to you Both sound and sweetness, faileth suddenly, And silence, against which you dare not cry, Aches round you like a strong disease and newWhat hope? what help? what music will undo That silence to your sense? Not friendship’s sigh, Not reason's subtle count; not melody Of viols, nor of pipes that Faunus blew; Not songs of poets, nor of nightingales Whose hearts leap upward through the cypress-trees To the clear moon; nor yet the spheric laws Self-chanted, nor the angels' sweet “All hails," Met in the smile of God: nay, none of these. Speak Thou, availing Christ!—and fill this pause.
Who art not missed by any that entreat.
Speak to me as to Mary at Thy feet!
[Poems 1844.] EXPERIENCE, like a pale musician, holds A dulcimer of patience in his hand, Whence harmonies we cannot understand, Of God's will in His worlds, the strain unfolds In sad, perplexed minors: deathly colds Fall on us while we hear, and countermand Our sanguine heart back from the fancy-land With nightingales in visionary wolds. We murmur “Where is any certain tune Or measured music in such notes as these?" But angels, leaning from the golden seat, Are not so minded; their fine ear hath won The issue of completed cadences, And, smiling down the stars, they whisper-SWEET.
HUMAN LIFE'S MYSTERY.
We build the house where we may rest,
For earnest or for jest?
The senses folding thick and dark
About the stifled soul within,
Believed in, but not seen.
We vibrate to the pant and thrill
Wherewith Eternity has curled
Expands from world to world.
And, in the tumult and excess
Of act and passion under sun,
Through all things that are done.
Just on the outside of man's dream;
Like swans adown a stream.
Abstractions, are they, from the forms
Of His great beauty?-exaltations From His great glory?—strong previsions Of what we shall be?-intuitions Of what we are--in calms and storms
Beyond our peace and passions?
Things nameless! which, in passing so,
Do stroke us with a subtle grace;