Chapter 8

Perchance this sleep that shutteth out the dreary Earth-sounds and motions, opens on Thy soul High dreams on fire with God; High songs that make the pathways where they roll More bright than stars do theirs; and visions new Of Thine eternal nature's old abode. Suffer this mother's kiss, Best thing that earthly is, To guide the music and the glory through, Nor narrow in Thy dream the broad upliftings Of any seraph wing! Thus, noiseless, thus. Sleep, sleep, my dreaming One!

IV.

The slumber of His lips meseems to run Through my lips to mine heart; to all its shiftings Of sensual life, bring contrariousness In a great calm. I feel, I could lie down As Moses did, and die,[M]--and then live most. I am 'ware of you, heavenly Presences, That stand with your peculiar light unlost, Each forehead with a high thought for a crown, Unsunned i' the sunshine! I am 'ware. Yet throw No shade against the wall! How motionless Ye round me with your living statuary, While through your whiteness, in and outwardly, Continual thoughts of God appear to go, Like light's soul in itself! I bear, I bear, To look upon the dropt lids of your eyes, Though their external shining testifies To that beatitude within, which were Enough to blast an eagle at his sun. I fall not on my sad clay face before ye; I look on His. I know My spirit which dilateth with the woe Of His mortality, May well contain your glory. Yea, drop your lids more low, Ye are but fellow-worshippers with me! Sleep, sleep, my worshipped One!

V.

We sate among the stalls at Bethlehem. The dumb kine from their fodder turning them, Softened their horned faces To almost human gazes Towards the newly born. The simple shepherds from the star-lit brooks Brought visionary looks, As yet in their astonished hearing rung The strange, sweet angel-tongue. The magi of the East, in sandals worn, Knelt reverent, sweeping round, With long pale beards their gifts upon the ground, The incense, myrrh and gold, These baby hands were impotent to hold. So, let all earthlies and celestials wait Upon thy royal state! Sleep, sleep, my kingly One!

VI.

I am not proud--meek angels, ye invest New meeknesses to hear such utterance rest On mortal lips,--"I am not proud"--not proud! Albeit in my flesh God sent His Son, Albeit over Him my head is bowed As others bow before Him, still mine heart Bows lower than their knees. O centuries That roll, in vision, your futurities My future grave athwart,-- Whose murmurs seem to reach me while I keep Watch o'er this sleep,-- Say of me as the heavenly said,--"Thou art The blessedest of women!"--blessedest, Not holiest, not noblest,--no high name, Whose height misplaced may pierce me like a shame, When I sit meek in heaven!

VII.

For me--for me-- God knows that I am feeble like the rest!-- I often wandered forth, more child than maiden, Among the midnight hills of Galilee, Whose summits looked heaven-laden; Listening to silence as it seemed to be God's voice, so soft yet strong--so fain to press Upon my heart as heaven did on the height, And waken up its shadows by a light, And show its vileness by a holiness. Then I knelt down most silent like the night, Too self-renounced for fears, Raising my small face to the boundless blue Whose stars did mix and tremble in my tears. God heard them falling after--with His dew.

VIII.

So, seeing my corruption, can I see. This Incorruptible now born of me This fair new Innocence no sun did chance To shine on, (for even Adam was no child,) Created from my nature all defiled, This mystery from out mine ignorance-- Nor feel the blindness, stain, corruption, more Than others do, or I did heretofore?-- Can hands wherein such burden pure has been, Not open with the cry, "Unclean, unclean!" More oft than any else beneath the skies? Ah King, ah Christ, ah Son! The kine, the shepherds, the abased wise, Must all less lowly wait Than I, upon thy state!-- Sleep, sleep, my kingly One!

IX.

Art Thou a King, then? Come, His universe, Come, crown me Him a king! Pluck rays from all such stars as never fling Their light where fell a curse. And make a crowning for this kingly brow!-- What is my word?--Each empyreal star Sits in a sphere afar In shining ambuscade: The child-brow, crowned by none, Keeps its unchildlike shade. Sleep, sleep, my crownless One!

X.

Unchildlike shade!--no other babe doth wear An aspect very sorrowful, as Thou.-- No small babe-smiles, my watching heart has seen, To float like speech the speechless lips between; No dovelike cooing in the golden air, No quick short joys of leaping babyhood. Alas, our earthly good In heaven thought evil, seems too good for Thee: Yet, sleep, my weary One!

XI.

And then the drear, sharp tongue of prophecy, With the dread sense of things which shall be done, Doth smite me inly, like a sword--a sword?-- (That "smites the Shepherd!") then I think aloud The words "despised,"--"rejected,"--every word Recoiling into darkness as I view The darling on my knee. Bright angels,--move not!--lest ye stir the cloud Betwixt my soul and His futurity! I must not die, with mother's work to do, And could not live--and see.

XII.

It is enough to bear This image still and fair-- This holier in sleep, Than a saint at prayer: This aspect of a child Who never sinned or smiled-- This presence in an infant's face: This sadness most like love, This love than love more deep, This weakness like omnipotence, It is so strong to move! Awful is this watching place, Awful what I see from hence-- A king, without regalia, A God, without the thunder, A child, without the heart for play; Ay, a Creator rent asunder From His first glory and cast away On His own world, for me alone To hold in hands created, crying--Son!

XIII.

That tear fell not on Thee Beloved, yet Thou stirrest in Thy slumber! Thou, stirring not for glad sounds out of number Which through the vibratory palm-trees run From summer wind and bird, So quickly hast Thou heard A tear fall silently?-- Wak'st Thou, O loving One?

_Elizabeth Barrett Browning._

FOOTNOTE:

[M] It is a Jewish tradition that Moses died of the kisses of God's lips.

A BEDSIDE DITTY.

Baby, baby dear, Earth and heaven are near Now, for heaven is here.

Heaven is every place Where your flower-sweet face Fills our eyes with grace.

Till your own eyes deign Earth a glance again, Earth and heaven are twain.

Now your sleep is done, Shine, and show the sun Earth and heaven are one.

_Algernon Charles Swinburne._

GIVEN BACK ON CHRISTMAS MORN.

(A MOTHER WATCHES BY HER SICK BABE.)

Round about the casement Wail the winds of winter; Shaken from the frozen eaves Many an icy splinter. On the hillside, in the hollow, Weaving wreaths of snow: Now in gusts of solemn music Lost in murmurs low; Howling now across the wold In its shroudlike vastness, Like the wolves about a fold In some Alpine fastness, Hungered by the cold.

(THE MOTHER SINGS.)

Babe of mine--babe of mine, Must I lose you? Dare I weep if the Divine Will should choose you?-- Ah, to mourn, as I have smiled, At the thought of you, my child! Ah, my child--my child!

Babe of mine--you entwine With existence! If one strips the clinging vine There's resistance-- Shall not I then----? I talk wild, Seeing Death so near my child:-- Ah, my child--my child!

Babe of mine--heart's best wine-- Life's pure essence! Gloomy shadows, that define Death's near presence. Dim those dear eyes, undefiled As God's violets--ah, my child: Ah, my child--my child!

The imperial purple of the night Is spread, wine-dark, above, But glistens with no gems of light, To hint of Heaven's love. A sombre pall hangs overhead, Fringed with lurid clouds of lead,-- O'er the sleeping earth below One long, wide waste of silent snow, And the wind moans drearily As it wanders by, And the night wanes wearily In the starlight sky.

(THE MOTHER SINGS.)

Must the dear eyes close? Must the lips be still?-- How I love their speech that flows Like a wanton rill! Must those cheeks, soft-tinged with rose, Pallid grow and chill? Give her back to me, angel in disguise! So your mystery I shall learn--yet with tearless eyes. By the pangs, the prayers, By the mother's glee, By her hopes, her fears, her cares, Give my child to me-- Give it back to me!

Quenched the eye's soft light, Hushed the cowslip breath! Going, darling, in the night? Spare--oh, spare her, Death! Dying--is it so? Oh, it must not be! Can my one poor treasure go? Give her back to me, Give her back to me: Or take me too,--left alone, Now my little one is gone; Ah, my child, my child!

Among the clouds that sail o'erhead A yellow radiance is shed; And o'er the hill-tops wrapt in snow, Is born a tinge of rosy glow. Within the air a stir--like wings Of angels in their minist'rings; A tremulous motion, and a thrill, As with faint light the heavens fill. Night's sombre clouds are slow withdrawn, And nature cries, Awake, 'tis dawn.

About the lonely casement Blows fresh the breath of day;-- The mother, in amazement, Sees death-glooms fade away!

The blue eyes open once again, Once more the lips have smiled-- Her tears fell like the spring-time rain: God gives her back her child!

Hush, there are footsteps on the snow, That pause the lattice-pane below; While voices chant the carol-rhymes, The Christmas song of olden times:

Awake, good Christians! Long ago The shepherds waked at night, And saw the heavens with glory glow, And angels in the light. Hosanna! sing, Hosanna! sing, Hosanna in the height!

New life they told to all on earth, New life and blessing bright, Forewarning of the Saviour's birth, In Bethlehem this night. Hosanna! sing, Hosanna! sing, Hosanna in the height!

New life to all,--new life to all,-- The tidings good recite! New life to all, which did befall At Bethlehem this night. Hosanna! sing, Hosanna! sing, Hosanna in the height!

The voices hushed--the footsteps died In distance far aloof, It seemed a blessing did abide Upon that silent roof, As far away their cheery singing Upon the frosty air came ringing.

Among the clouds that sail o'erhead A yellow glory is outspread; And on the hill-tops crowned with snows, A rosy blushing radiance grows, As wider still the warm light glows: And flooding daylight falls again From cloud to hill--from hill to plain.

A golden sea of swimming light Poured o'er the sombre shores of night, While the glad mother, to her breast Her child yet close and closer pressed, Her rescued treasure--newly born-- Her babe--given back on Christmas morn.

_Thomas Hood._

A LULLING SONG.

Hush! my dear, lie still and slumber, Holy Angels guard thy bed; Heavenly blessings without number Gently falling on thy head.

Sleep, my babe; thy food and raiment, House and home, thy friends provide; All without thy care or payment, All thy wants are well supplied.

How much better thou'rt attended Than the Son of God could be, When from heaven He descended, And became a child like thee!

Soft and easy is thy cradle: Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay, When His birthplace was a stable, And His softest bed was hay.

See the kinder shepherds round Him, Telling wonders from the sky! Where they sought Him, there they found Him With His Virgin-Mother by.

See the lovely Babe a-dressing; Lovely Infant, how He smiled! When He wept, the Mother's blessing Soothed and hush'd the holy Child.

Lo, He slumbers in His manger, Where the hornéd oxen fed; --Peace, my darling, here's no danger; Here's no ox a-near thy bed!

May'st thou live to know and fear Him, Trust and love Him all thy days; Then go dwell forever near Him, See His face and sing His praise!

I could give thee thousand kisses, Hoping what I most desire; Not a mother's fondest wishes Can to greater joys aspire.

_Isaac Watts._

GOOD-NIGHT.

Good-night, good-night, the day is done; Rock, rock the cradle, little one; The lamp is low, and low the sun, Good-night!

Good-night, good-night, the Christmas bough Bends to the rocking wind, and thou To mother's ditty noddest now, Good-night!

Good-night, good-night, the holy day Bring baby sweets, and sweets alway! Rock, rock--then, tiptoe, steal away, Good-night!

_H. S. M._

END OF BOOK III.

Transcriber's Notes:

A number of the poems contain archaic and varied spelling. This has been left as printed, with the exception of the following few printer errors:

Page 51--nothin.' amended to nothin'.--"Jes sayin' nothin'. That was why ..."

Page 59--joyfulst amended to joyful'st--"So, now is come our joyful'st feast,"

Page 70--convivo amended to convivio--"Quot estis in convivio."

Illustrations have been shifted slightly, so that they are not in the middle of poems. Captions have been added from the List of Illustrations. The first illustration was located as a frontispiece in the book, but has been moved closer to the page number given in the List of Illustrations here.

Page 97 contains the line "Bears home the huge unwieldly logs,"--unwieldly may or may not be a printer error, so it has been left as printed.

Page 152 contains the line "The Phoenix builds the Phoenix nest,"--the oe in both occurrences of Phoenix was printed as a ligature, which has not been retained for this text version.