Part 3
Shrub and bird and beast are mingled With a clumsy dream of man; Lost the ancient art that singled Hoof and brow of brooding Pan!
Strike the rock, release the river, Bid it through the desert go; Let its shallows dance and quiver, And its flood majestic flow;
Till again the rushing rapture Of the poet's soul is mine, With its swift pursuit to capture Visions that are all divine.
WHAT IS RELIGION?
What is Religion?--Word of many creeds Blared forth in streets by solemn Pharisee, And piped in doleful tones on scrannel reeds, Untouched by love or tender sympathy That moves the soldier where the Master bleeds?
What is Religion?--Lofty minster-spires And rich mosaics on the chancel wall; Deep organ-tones, and silver-throated choirs Whose golden Glorias night and morning fall, With sanctus-bell and flares of altar-fires?
What is Religion? Note of bird on bough; The sunlight falling o'er the waving grass; A child's clear gaze and unashamed brow; The little deeds that, living, come and pass And are forgot: Religion is, I trow.
What is Religion? Why, who anywhere Stoops down to touch the dusty wayside-flower, And then as tenderly the face of care; Who thus in love lives on from hour to hour Has caught the secret, and has mastered prayer.
A SONG OF SPRING
Little laughter of the grass; Clapping of soft, tiny hands; Fleeting forms that come and pass In relays of fairy bands; And the birds upon the wing-- Tell the secret! It is Spring!
In the woods the dryades Hear the sounding pipes of Pan, Leave their temples of the trees And return to haunts of man; This the song they sweetly sing-- Ave! Ave! It is Spring!
Domed with sapphire is the sky; Haze of opal hath the hills; Brown the brooks that rushing by Call to their companion rills; These their joyous welcome bring-- Hail! All hail! For it is Spring!
A FALLEN ANGEL
Out of the light, Into the night, God, I am falling! Fashioned of flame, Spent with my shame, God, I am calling!
All through the day Sin has had sway-- Lost is the token; Evening brings Hurt of my wings, Blackened and broken.
Child of a star, Thine avatar, Drunk from the revel; Who am I, God,-- Spirit or clod, Angel or devil?
Yet Thou hast made Me Thy sword-blade-- Sheathed, that its brightness Flash up to win, When the last sin Burns into whiteness.
Hand that can smite, Hold the hilt tight, Draw, and strike faster! Strike with me, Lord! My soul Thy sword, And Thou its Master.
Strike! till the day Grow from the gray Gloom of the peril; And in the skies Dream-domes arise-- Jacinth and beryl!
A LITANY
For what we to ourselves have done, We who are miracles divine, Flares from a universal sun, Or lees from an Olympian wine; For the abuse of laughter, And tears that follow after; For love betrayed, and hope delayed: Cry we mercy, God!
For what we to ourselves have said: "Thou hast much goods; peace, O my Soul, Nor fret if beggars cry for bread, And show their rags in hope of dole. God giveth thee much pleasure, Want is the poor man's measure!" For all of these dark heresies: Cry we mercy, God!
For what we on ourselves have wrought-- Wild havoc with the weird, grotesque, Abortive images of thought, Making of beauty the burlesque; For much pretence in praying; And little heart at playing; For smothered smiles and countless guiles: Cry we mercy, God!
For casting dice where Jesus bleeds Upon His cross, naked, alone; Unheedful in the noise of creeds Of Him and His last dying moan; For Rahab robed in scarlet, Cursed with the title, "Harlot," By the decrees of Pharisees: Cry we mercy, God!
For the delight of out-of-doors Missed in our minsters made of stone, Unmindful that pure incense pours To Thee from wild rose-petals blown Down forest-aisles; that altar fires Burn in the sunset on the hills, And from the pine-wood's ancient spires The varied chime of evening fills All hearts with rapture; for the light Lost on white lilies, and the blue Of heaven wasted, the dear night With her gold stars and silver dew Neglected. Oh, for what we fail To find from life so rich and fair-- The rain, the snow, the sleet, the hail, Summer, and blossom-breathing air; For every useless sorrow, And fears for the to-morrow, Not knowing Thee, great Deity: Cry we mercy, God!
THE GREAT COMRADE
I hear Thy voice within the world, Thy thunder from the heaven hurled;
I lean and listen to the trees Chanting Thine age-long litanies.
Over white leagues of ice and snow, Through drift and storm I watch Thee go;
Upon the sea's sad surge behold Marks of Thy journeyings manifold.
Where lilies lowly bow the head Some marvel of Thyself is shed;
Earth's joyous, wild, and wandering things Are hints of Thy rememberings.
From mist of stars upward to man, Lord, all Thy ways I dimly scan.
* * * * *
To what divine and unguessed goals, Comrade, invitest Thou all souls!
A REVERY
The green sea surges up to land; I feel its salt breath on my cheek; In deep-throated tones it seems to speak As it falls thundering, seething on the sand.
The wild gulls circling sweep and cry; A thin mist veils the crimson west; The great, red sun sinks swiftly down to rest; A dying flame crawls flickering up the sky.
Deep darkness, and the sullen boom Of sea receding into dark; I hear a faint, "Hoy, heave hoy!" I mark A vessel's lights that pierce the gloom.
* * * * *
Night! and remoteness of the stars; Vast, unrevealed infinitude Of ocean, and the interlude Of sobbing from the sandy bars!
GOOD-BYE
Dear, and dark, and tall Lady of my heart, Summer roses fall Now that we must part!
What has happened, dear? All the flowers are dead! Since you are not near, Laughter, too, is fled.
All the tender blue Turned to tearful gray, When I said to you, "Good-bye," and went away!
DAVID'S SONG TO MICHAL
From "The Witch of Endor"
O Heart, dear Heart, Heart of the wild, red rose! Hid in the loveliest flower that grows; Hands of the seraphim scatter, let fall Myrrh from thy leaves in the garden of Saul.
O Heart, dear Heart, Heart of the wild, red rose! Breath from the lips of the cherubim blows Soft on thy petals; they whisper and call, Laugh and are glad in the garden of Saul.
O Heart, dear Heart, Heart of the wild, red rose! Flame from the gold of the Mercy Seat glows, Shines like a star on my love's festival; Michal is mine in the garden of Saul!
DAVID BEFORE SAUL
From "The Witch of Endor"
Down by the stream of the waters Came the king; and his face was sad, Sad with a grief beyond belief, For a bitter grief he had: To be a king means sorrowing-- A king may not be glad.
Down by the stream of the waters Came the king, and alone at night; His robe was torn, a crown of thorn Was on his brow so white: They placed it there, who did not care His eyes with tears were bright.
Down by the stream of the waters, Where it flows through the valley of death, He came, the king, all sorrowing; A sob was in his breath: They broke his heart, who stood apart-- The crowd that wondereth.
A VILLANELLE OF FATE
When the day of life is done, And the tools are laid aside, We shall slumber one by one.
Norns their threads of fate have spun Lust and virtue, grace and pride-- When the day of life is done.
All that we have here begun Must be scattered far and wide; We shall slumber one by one.
Gone the folly and the fun, Spilled the wine and spent the tide, When the day of life is done.
By the marge of Acheron Shall dear dreams be then denied, When we slumber one by one?
* * * * *
Build your tower to the sun! Surely death may be defied. When the day of life is done, Shall we slumber one by one?
ONE WOMAN
O light that overflows, O wind that wildly blows, O sweet and tender grace, All in One Woman's face!
O love that is like fire, O pain that is desire, O melodies that start, All in One Woman's heart!
End of Project Gutenberg's His Lady of the Sonnets, by Robert W. Norwood