Part 12

I have said that the message of Patience Worth contained a revelation, a religion and a promise. The revelation is too obvious to need a pointer. In the preceding chapter were presented the elements of the religion that she reveals, with which should be included the unfaltering faith expressed in these poems. Love and Faith—these are the two Graces upon whom, to personify them, all her work is rested, and from them spring the promise she conveys. That promise has to do with the hereafter, and Patience knows the human attitude in relation to that universal problem, and she gives courage to the shrinking heart in this poem on the fear of death:

I stride abroad before my brothers like a roaring lion, Yet at even’s close from whence cometh the icy hand That clutcheth at my heart and maketh me afraid— The slipping of myself away, I know not whither? And lo, I fall atremble. When I would grasp a straw, ’tis then I find it not. Can I then trust me on this journey lone To country I deem peopled, but know not? My very heart declareth faith, yet hath not thine Been touched and chilled by this same phantom? Ah, through the granite sips the lichen— And hast thou not a long dark journey made? Why fear? As cloud wreaths fade From spring’s warm smile, so shall fear Be put to flight by faith.

I pluck me buds of varied hue and choose the violet To weave a garland for my loved and best. I search for bloom among the rocks And find but feathery plume. I weave, and lo, the blossoms fade Before I reach the end, And faded lie amid my tears— And yet I weave and weave. I search for jewels ’neath the earth, And find them at the dawn, Besprinkled o’er the rose and leaf, And showered by the sparrow’s wing, Who seeketh ’mid the dew-wet vine A harbor for her home. I search for truth along the way And find but dust and web, And in the smile of infant lips I know myself betrayed. I watch the swallow skim across the blue To homelands of the South, And ah, the gnawing at my heart doth cease; For how he wings and wings To lands he deemeth peopled by his brothers, Whose song he hears in flight! Not skimming on the lake’s fair breast is he, But winging on and on, And dim against the feathery cloud He fades into the blue. I stand with withered blossoms crushed, And weave and weave and weave.

This is Patience’s answer to the eternal question:

Can I then trust me on this journey lone To country I deem peopled, but know not?

It is the cry of him who believes and yet doubts, and Patience points to the swallow winging across the blue “to lands he deemeth peopled with his brothers” who have gone on before. In imagination he can hear their song in the home lands of the South, and though he cannot see them, and cannot have had word from them, he knows they are there, and he does not skim uncertainly about the lake, but with unfaltering faith “wings him on and on” until—

Dim against the feathery cloud He fades into the blue.

But Patience does not content herself with appeals to faith, eloquent as they may be. While her communications are always clothed in figures of speech, they are sometimes more definite in statement than in the lines which have been thus far presented. In the prose poem which follows, she asks and answers the question in a way that can leave no doubt of her meaning:

“Shall I arise and know thee, brother, when like a bubble I am blown into Eternity from this pipe of clay? Or shall I burst and float my atoms in a joyous spray at the first beholding of this home prepared for thee and me, and shall we together mingle our joys in one supreme joy in Him? It matters not, beloved, so comfort thee. For should the blowing be the end, what then? Hath not thy pack been full, and mine? We are o’erweary with the work of living, and sinking to oblivion would be rest. Yet sure as sun shall rise, my dust shall be unloosed, and blow into new fields of new days. I see full fields yet to be harvested, and I am weary. I see fresh business of living, work yet to be done, and I am weary. Oh, let me fold these tired hands and sleep. Beloved, I trust, and expect my trust, for ne’er yet did He fail.”

She puts this into the mouth of one who lives, but it is not merely an expression of faith; it is a positive assertion. “Yet sure as sun shall rise, my dust shall be unloosed, and blow into new fields of new days.”

And again she sings:

What carest, dear, should sorrow trace Where dimples sat, and should Her dove-gray cloud to settle ’neath thine eye? The withering of thy curving cheek Bespeaks the spending of thy heart. Lips once full are bruised By biting of restraint. Wax wiser, dear. To wane is but to rest and rise once more.

Or she puts the thought in another form in this assurance:

Weary not, O brother! ’Tis apaled, the sun’s gold sink. Then weary not, but set thy path to end, E’en as the light doth fade and leave Nay trace to mar the night’s dark tide. Sink thou, then, as doth the sun, Assured that thou shalt rise!

All these, however, are but preparatory to the communication in which she asserts not only the actuality of the future life but something of the nature of it. One might say that the preceding poems and prose-poems, taken alone and without regard to the mystery of their source, were merely expressions of belief, but in this communication she seems to speak with knowledge, seems even to have overstepped the bounds within which, she has often asserted, she is held. “My lips be astopped,” she has said in answer to a request for information of this forbidden character, but here she appears to have been permitted to give a glimpse of the unknown, and to present a promise of universal application. This poem, from the spiritual standpoint, is the most remarkable of all her productions.

How have I caught at fleeting joys And swifter fleeting sorrows! And days and nights, and morns and eves, And seasons, too, aslipping thro’ the years, afleet. And whither hath their trend then led? Ah, whither!

How do I to stop amid the very pulse o’ life. Afeared! Yea, fear clutcheth at my very heart! For what? The night? Nay, night doth shimmer And flash the jewels I did count E’er fear had stricken me.

The morn? Nay, I waked with morn atremor, And know the day-tide’s every hour. How do I then to clutch me At my heart, afeared? The morrow? Nay, The morrow but bringeth old loves And hopes anew.

Ah, woe is me, ’tis emptiness, aye, naught— The bottomlessness o’ the pit that doth afright! Afeared? Aye, but driven fearless on!

What! Promise ye ’tis to mart I plod? What! Promise ye new joys? Ah, but should I sleep, to waken me To joys I ne’er had supped!

I see me stand abashed and timid, As a child who cast a toy beloved, For bauble that but caught the eye And left the heart ahungered.

What! Should I search in vain To find a sorrow that had fleeted hence Afore my coming and found it not? Ah, me, the emptiness!

And what! should joys that but a prick Of gladness dealt, and teased my hours To happiness, be lost amid this promised bliss? Nay, I clutch me to my heart In fear, in truth!

Do harken Ye! And cast afearing To the wiles of beating gales and wooing breeze. I find me throat aswell and voice attuned. Ah, let me then to sing, for joy consumeth me! I’ve builded me a land, my mart, And fear hath slipped away to leave me sing.

I sleep, and feel afloating. Whither! Whither! To wake,— And wonder warmeth at my heart, I’ve waked in yester-year!

What! Ye? And what! I’st thou? Ah, have I then slept, to dream? Come, Ne’er a dream-wraith looked me such a welcoming! ’Twas yesterday this hand wert then afold, And now,—ah, do I dream? ’Tis warm-pressed within mine own! Dreams! Dreams! And yet, we’ve met afore!

I see me flitting thro’ this vale, And tho’ I strive to spell The mountain’s height and valley’s depth, I do but fall afail. Wouldst thou then drink a potion Were I to offer thee an empty cup? Couldst thou to pluck the rainbow from the sky? As well, then, might I spell to thee.

But I do promise at the waking, Old joys, and sorrows ripened to a mellow heart. And e’en the crime-stained wretch, abasked in light, Shall cast his seed and spring afruit!

Then do I cease to clutch the emptiness And sleep, and sleep me unafeared!

What is it that affrights, she asks, when we think of death? It is the emptiness, she answers, the utter lack of knowledge of what lies beyond. And if we waken to “joys we ne’er have supped”—using the word sup in the sense of to taste or to know—what is there to attract us in the prospect? It is an illustration she presents of our attitude toward promises of joys with which we are unfamiliar; and which therefore do not greatly interest us—the child who casts aside a well beloved toy “for bauble that but caught the eye and left the heart ahungered.” Shall the joys, she makes us exclaim, which we have known here but barely tasted in this fleeting life, “be lost amid this promised bliss!” and shall we “search in vain to find a sorrow that had fleeted hence before our coming?”—meaning, apparently, shall we look there in vain for a loved one who has gone before? She answers these questions of the heart. Personality persists beyond the grave, she gives us plainly to understand. We take with us all of ourselves but the material elements. “Thou art ye,” she has said, “and I be me and ye be ye, aye, ever so.” The transition is but a change from the material to the spiritual. We “wake in yesteryear,” she says,—amid the friends and associations of the past; and the joys of that life, one must infer, are the spiritual joys of this one, the joy that comes from love, from good deeds, from work accomplished. For it is quite evident that she would have us believe that there is a continuous advancement in that other life.

And e’en the crime-stained wretch, abasked in light, Shall cast his seed and spring afruit.

This can mean nothing else than that the hardened sinner, amid supernal influences, shall develop into something higher, and as no one can be supposed to be perfect when leaving earth, it follows that progress is common to all. Progress implies effort, and this indicates that there will be something for everyone to do—a view quite different from the monotony of eternal idleness.

But this I promise at the waking, Old joys, and sorrows ripened to a mellow heart.

To those who would peer into the other land these are perhaps the most important lines she has given. But what does she mean by “sorrows ripened to a mellow heart?” She was asked to make that plainer and she said:

“That that hath flitted hence be sorrows of earth, and ahere be ripened and thine. Love alost be sorrow of earth and dwell ahere.”

She thus makes these lines an answer to the question put before:

What! Should I search in vain To find a sorrow that had fleeted hence Afore my coming and found it not?

These are the sorrows that are “ripened to a mellow heart,” and she was asked if there were new sorrows to be borne in that other life. She replied:

“Nay. Earth be a home of sorrow’s dream. For sorrow be but dream of the soul asleep. ’Tis wake (death) that setteth free.”

And after such assurance comes the cry of faith and content and peace:

Then do I cease to clutch the emptiness, And sleep, and sleep me unafeared!

With this comforting assurance in mind one may cheerfully approach her solemn address to Death:

Who art thou, Who tracketh ’pon the path o’ me— O’ each turn, aye, and track?

Thou! And thou astand! And o’er thy face a cloud, Aye, a darked and somber cloud! Who art thou, Thou tracker ’mid the day’s bright, And ’mid the night’s deep; E’en when I be astopped o’ track?

Who art thou, That toucheth o’ the flesh o’ me, And sendeth chill unto the heart o’ me? Aye, and who art thou, Who putteth forth thy hand And setteth at alow the hopes o’ me?

Aye, who art thou, Who bideth ever ’mid a dream? Aye, and that the soul o’ me Doth shrink at know?

Who art thou? Who art thou, Who steppeth ever to my day, And blotteth o’ the sun away?

Who art thou, Who stepped to Earth at birth o’ me, And e’en ’mid wail o’ weak, Aye, at the birth o’ wail, Did set a chill ’pon infant flesh; And at the track o’ man ’pon Earth Doth follow ever, and at height afollow, And doth touch, And all doth crumble to a naught. Thou! Thou! Who art thou? Ever do I to ask, and ever wish To see the face o’ thee, And ne’er, ne’er do I to know thee— Thou, the Traveler ’pon the path o’ me. And, Brother, thou dost give That which world doth hold From see o’ me!

Stand thou! Stand thou! And draw thy cloak from o’er thy face! Ever hath the dread o’ thee Clutched at the heart o’ me. Aye, and at the end o’ journey, I beseech thee, Cast thy cloak and show thee me! Aye, show thee me!

Ah, thou art the gift o’ Him! The Key to There! The Love o’ Earth! Aye, and Hate hath made o’ man To know thee not— Thou! Thou! O Death!

She finds Death terrible from the human point of view, and reveals him at the end as “the gift of Him, the Key to There!”

One of her constant objects seems to be to rob death of its terrors, and to bring the “There” into closer and more intimate connection with us. Here is another effort:

Spring’s morn afulled o’ merry-song, Aye, and tickle o’ streams-thread through Summer’s noon;

Arock o’ hum o’ hearts-throb, And danced awhite the air at scorch;

Winter’s rage asing o’ cold And wail o’ Winter’s sorry at the Summer’s leave;

Ashivered breeze, abear o’ leaf’s rustling At dry o’ season’s ripe;

Night’s deep, where sound astarteth silence; Morn’s sweet, awooed by bird’s coax.

Earth’s sounds, ye deem? I tell thee ’tis but the echoing o’ Here.

Thy days be naught Save coax o’ Here athere!

All that is worth while on earth is but the echoes of Heaven, and there would be nothing to life but for the joys that have been “coaxed” from there. How closely that thought unites the here and the there. Earth sounds but the echoes of the other land adjoining! She makes it something tangible, something almost material, something we may nearly comprehend; and then, having opened the door a little way, as far, no doubt, as it is possible for her to do, she presents this response to human desires, this promise of joys to come:

Swift as light-flash o’ storm, swift, swift, Would I send the wish o’ thine asearch. Swift, swift as bruise o’ swallows’ wing ’pon air, I’d send asearch thy wish, areach to lands unseen; I’d send aback o’ answer laden. Swift, swift, would I to flee unto the Naught Thou knowest as the Here. Swift, swift I’d bear aback to thee What thou wouldst seek. Swift, swift, Would I to bear aback to thee.

Dost deem the path ahid doth lead to naught? Dost deem thy footfall leadest thee to nothingness? Dost pin not ’pon His word o’ promising, And art at sorry and afear to follow Him? I’d put athin thy cup a sweet, a pledge o’ love’s-buy. I’d send aback a glad-song o’ this land. Sing thou, sing on, though thou art ne’er aheard— Like love awaked, the joy o’ breath Anew born o’ His loving. Set thee at rest, and trod the path unfearing. For He who putteth joy to earth, aplanted joy Athin the reach o’ thee, e’en through The dark o’ path at end o’ journey. His smile! His word! His loving! Put forth thy hand at glad, and I do promise thee That Joy o’ earth asupped shall fall as naught, And thou shalt sup thee deep o’ joys, O’ Bearer, aye, and Source; and like glad light o’ day And sweet o’ love, thy coming here shall be!

With this promise, this covenant, we bring the narrative of Patience to an end. There will be many and widely varied views of the nature of this intelligence, but surely there can be but one opinion of the beauty of her words and the purity of her purpose. She has brought a message of love at a time when the world is sadly deficient in that attribute, wisely believed to be the best thing in earth or heaven; and an inspiration to faith that was never so greatly in need of strength as now. An inevitable consequence of the world-war will be a universal introspection. There will be a great turning of thought to serious things. That tendency is already discernible. May it not be possible that it is the mission of Patience Worth to answer the question that is above all questions at a time when humanity is filled with interrogation?

FINIS.

INDEX

Affection, 46 Allegory, on faith (verse), 255-266 Anatomist. _See_ Teacher of anatomy Anglo-Saxon, 104 Anne, 145, 146 Ape, 112, 117 Aphorisms, 19 Attunement, 203 Autumn (verse), 82, 83, 84

B., Mrs., 182 Babe, parable of a, 168 Bartman, parable of a, 165 Basketmaker, parable of the, 167 Beppo, 112 Birth of a Song (verse), 86, 87 Blank verse, 21, 64, 107 Book learning, 251 Books, 60 Botanist. _See_ Teacher of botany Brew, 185 “Builder of dreams” (verse), 85, 86 Burke, 89

Capital punishment, 217 Carrington, W. T., quoted, 6 Charlie, Prince, 145, 146 Childhood, tone of, 51 Christ, 122 Attitude toward, 244 Christmas (verse), 99 Christmas story, 122, 123-141 Cloak, parable of the, 171 Cockshut, 57 Communications, character, 32, 202, 203 Genuineness, 33, 39, 41 Intellectual character 9, 11 Method, 187 Compliments, 49 Composition, method, 66, 67, 80, 164, 185 Conversations, character, 173, 174 Substance in her words, 211 Cup, 224, 225 Curran, John H., 53, 178, 199 Curran, Mrs. John H., 3, 4, 14, 31, 41, 45, 46, 182, 187, 188, 189, 201, 205 Education, 34 Sittings, 35, 36

D., Dr. and Mrs., 207-212 Day, pæan to the (verse), 84 Death, fear of, 196 Fear of (verse), 267-269 Life following, 79 robbed of terrors, 281 Solemn address to (verse), 279-281 Devotional verse, 97 Divinity of the human, 245 Doubt (verse), 265 Dougal, 145, 146 Drama, 109 Six-act medieval play described, 142 Dress, references to, 52, 56, 192 Dreams. _See_ “Builder of dreams” _See_ Phantom _also_ Dreamer (verse), 72, 73

Earth questions, reasoning upon, 217 Eastern morn, 144, 145 England, 15, 33, 149 Northern, 60 Epigrams. _See_ Aphorisms Ermaline, Princess, 145, 146

Failures in life, 227 Fairy’s wand, parable of, 168 Faith, allegory on (verse), 255-266 Triumph of (verse), 253-266 Femininity, 42, 52 Flesh. _See_ Soul Folly, 221, 222 Fool, 112 Fool and the Lady, The (story), 109, 111-121 Franco, 151 Friendship (verse), 96 Fun-loving spirit, 53 Future. _See_ Immortality

G., Miss, 207 G., Mr., 208 G., Mrs., 207 God, 226 Identity with, 242 Love for (verse), 237-239 Song of, 193

“Hands” (verse), 233 Harp (verse), 86, 87 Herbs, story of the, 212-215 Holmes, John Haynes, quoted, 10 Hours of day (verse), 215 Housekeeping, 42 Humor, 31 in verse, 74, 75, 76 Hutchings, Mr., 53 Hutchings, Mrs. Emily Grant, 4, 44, 188

Imagery, 72, 78 Immortality, growth, 277 Mystery, 249, 250 Nature, 272 Reality, 247 Recognition of friends, 270, 276 Impatience, 45, 46 Individuality, 41 Infancy, 92, 94 Inn of Falcon Feather, 111

J., Miss, 189, 192, 193 James, Wm., 199, 200 Jana, 127 Jane-o’-apes, 58, 131 John the Peaceful, 122, 123, 132 Joy, promise of future, 283-284

K., Dr., 195, 199 King of Wisdom, 221 Kirtle, 55, 56

Language, 13, 56, 104, 149, 150, 153, 164, 189 Laughter, 168 Leaf, fallen (verse), 82 Leta, 124 Life for a life, 218 Life likened to the seasons (verse), 252 Lisa, 109, 112 Literature, 223, 224 Love, childhood, 51 Divine (verse), 235, 236 for Christ, 244 for the loveless (verse), 226 for the wearied (verse), 227 Friendly, 96 God’s (verse), 97 Man and woman (verse), 94 maternal, 92, 94 Religious, 226 Song, “Drink ye unto me,” 180 to God (verse), 237-239 Universal, 234 “Loves of yester’s day” (verse), 88 Lullaby, 64, example, 68 Spinning Wheel, 69

M., Mr. and Mrs., 207-210 Marion, 153 Mary, the Virgin, 245 Marye, Lady, 122, 123 Massinger, 58 Maxims. _See_ Aphorisms Men, attitude toward, 49 Men and women, 94 Merchants, parable of, 166 Message, 224 Metaphor, borrowed, 78, 79 Metaphysics, 29 Mise-man song, 179 Mission, 284 Mite and the Seeds, tale of the, 176-178 Musician, 208

Nature, Love of, 25, 79 Value of, 251 Neurologist, 204 New England, 15, 33 New Year (verse), 101 Newspaper article, 215 Newspaper writer, 189

Ouija board, 1, 5, 65, 187

P., Dr., 204-207 Parables, 165 Story of the herbs, 212-215 Personality, 59 Pettieskirt, 52, 54, 56, 154, 186, 205 Phantom and the Dreamer, The (verse), 255-266 Physicians, 204 Physician, conversation with a young, 16 Description, 50 Poetry. _See_ Songs; Verse Pollard, Mrs. Mary E., 5, 43, 44 Prayers, Character, 239, 243 Examples (verse), 239-244 “Primrose path,” 77, 78 Prose, 107 Psychic communications. _See_ Communications Puritan, 55, 59, 69, 192 “Put,” 186-189

R., Dr., 204-207 Records of communications, character, 3 Regal, 123 Religion, 223, 226 Revelation, 225, 226 Rhyme, 21, 64 Rhythm, 107