Chapter 17
The mountains in their overwhelming might Moved me to sadness when I saw them first, And afterwards they moved me to delight; Struck harmonies from silent chords which burst Out into song, a song by memory nursed; Forever unrenewed by touch or sight Sleeps the keen magic of each day or night, In pleasure and in wonder then immersed. All Switzerland behind us on the ascent, All Italy before us we plunged down St. Gothard, garden of forget-me-not: Yet why should such a flower choose such a spot? Could we forget that way which once we went Though not one flower had bloomed to weave its crown?
23.
Beyond the seas we know stretch seas unknown, Blue and bright-colored for our dim and green; Beyond the lands we see, stretch lands unseen With many-tinted tangle overgrown; And icebound seas there are like seas of stone, Serenely stormless as death lies serene; And lifeless tracks of sand, which intervene Betwixt the lands where living flowers are blown. This dead and living world befits our case Who live and die: we live in wearied hope, We die in hope not dead; we run a race To-day, and find no present halting-place; All things we see lie far within our scope, And still we peer beyond with craving face.
24.
The wise do send their hearts before them to Dear blesséd Heaven, despite the veil between; The foolish nurse their hearts within the screen Of this familiar world, where all we do Or have is old, for there is nothing new: Yet elder far that world we have not seen; God's Presence antedates what else hath been: Many the foolish seem, the wise seem few. Oh foolishest fond folly of a heart Divided, neither here nor there at rest! That hankers after Heaven, but clings to earth; That neither here nor there knows thorough mirth, Half-choosing, wholly missing, the good part:-- Oh fool among the foolish, in thy quest.
25.
When we consider what this life we lead Is not, and is; how full of toil and pain, How blank of rest and of substantial gain, Beset by hunger earth can never feed, And propping half our hearts upon a reed; We cease to mourn lost treasures mourned in vain, Lost treasures we are fain and yet not fain To fetch back for a solace of our need. For who that feel this burden and this strain, This wide vacuity of hope and heart, Would bring their cherished well-beloved again: To bleed with them and wince beneath the smart, To have with stinted bliss such lavish bane, To hold in lieu of all so poor a part?
26.
This Life is full of numbness and of balk, Of haltingness and baffled short-coming, Of promise unfulfilled, of everything That is puffed vanity and empty talk: Its very bud hangs cankered on the stalk, Its very song-bird trails a broken wing, Its very Spring is not indeed like Spring, But sighs like Autumn round an aimless walk. This Life we live is dead for all its breath; Death's self it is, set off on pilgrimage, Travelling with tottering steps the first short stage: The second stage is one mere desert dust Where Death sits veiled amid creation's rust:-- Unveil thy face, O Death who art not Death.
27.
I have dreamed of Death:--what will it be to die Not in a dream, but in the literal truth With all Death's adjuncts ghastly and uncouth, The pang that is the last and the last sigh? Too dulled, it may be, for a last good-bye, Too comfortless for any one to soothe, A helpless charmless spectacle of ruth Through long last hours, so long while yet they fly. So long to those who hopeless in their fear Watch the slow breath and look for what they dread: While I supine, with ears that cease to hear, With eyes that glaze, with heart-pulse running down, (Alas! no saint rejoicing on her bed), May miss the goal at last, may miss a crown.
28.
In life our absent friend is far away: But death may bring our friend exceeding near, Show him familiar faces long so dear And lead him back in reach of words we say. He only cannot utter yea or nay In any voice accustomed to our ear; He only cannot make his face appear And turn the sun back on our shadowed day. The dead may be around us, dear and dead; The unforgotten dearest dead may be Watching us, with unslumbering eyes and heart, Brimful of words which cannot yet be said, Brimful of knowledge they may not impart, Brimful of love for you and love for me.
"FOR THINE OWN SAKE, O MY GOD."
Wearied of sinning, wearied of repentance, Wearied of self, I turn, my God, to Thee; To Thee, my Judge, on Whose all-righteous sentence Hangs mine eternity: I turn to Thee, I plead Thyself with Thee,-- Be pitiful to me.
Wearied I loathe myself, I loathe my sinning, My stains, my festering sores, my misery: Thou the Beginning, Thou ere my beginning Didst see and didst foresee Me miserable, me sinful, ruined me,-- I plead Thyself with Thee.
I plead Thyself with Thee Who art my Maker, Regard Thy handiwork that cries to Thee; I plead Thyself with Thee Who wast partaker Of mine infirmity, Love made Thee what Thou art, the love of me,-- I plead Thyself with Thee.
UNTIL THE DAY BREAK.
When will the day bring its pleasure? When will the night bring its rest? Reaper and gleaner and thresher Peer toward the east and the west:-- The Sower He knoweth, and He knoweth best.
Meteors flash forth and expire, Northern lights kindle and pale; These are the days of desire, Of eyes looking upward that fail; Vanishing days as a finishing tale.
Bows down the crop in its glory Tenfold, fifty-fold, hundred-fold; The millet is ripened and hoary, The wheat ears are ripened to gold:-- Why keep us waiting in dimness and cold?
The Lord of the harvest, He knoweth Who knoweth the first and the last: The Sower Who patiently soweth, He scanneth the present and past: He saith, "What thou hast, what remaineth, hold fast."
Yet, Lord, o'er Thy toil-wearied weepers The storm-clouds hang muttering and frown: On threshers and gleaners and reapers, O Lord of the harvest, look down; Oh for the harvest, the shout, and the crown!
"Not so," saith the Lord of the reapers, The Lord of the first and the last: "O My toilers, My weary, My weepers, What ye have, what remaineth, hold fast. Hide in My heart till the vengeance be past."
"OF HIM THAT WAS READY TO PERISH."
Lord, I am waiting, weeping, watching for Thee: My youth and hope lie by me buried and dead, My wandering love hath not where to lay its head Except Thou say "Come to Me."
My noon is ended, abolished from life and light, My noon is ended, ended and done away, My sun went down in the hours that still were day, And my lingering day is night.
How long, O Lord, how long in my desperate pain Shall I weep and watch, shall I weep and long for Thee? Is Thy grace ended, Thy love cut off from me? How long shall I long in vain?
O God Who before the beginning hast seen the end, Who hast made me flesh and blood, not frost and not fire, Who hast filled me full of needs and love and desire And a heart that craves a friend,
Who hast said "Come to Me and I will give thee rest," Who hast said "Take on thee My yoke and learn of Me," Who calledst a little child to come to Thee And pillowedst John on Thy breast;
Who spak'st to women that followed Thee sorrowing, Bidding them weep for themselves and weep for their own; Who didst welcome the outlaw adoring Thee all alone, And plight Thy word as a King,--
By Thy love of these and of all that ever shall be, By Thy love of these and of all the born and unborn, Turn Thy gracious eyes on me and think no scorn Of me, not even of me.
Beside Thy Cross I hang on my cross in shame, My wounds, weakness, extremity cry to Thee: Bid me also to Paradise, also me For the glory of Thy Name.
"BEHOLD THE MAN!"
Shall Christ hang on the Cross, and we not look? Heaven, earth, and hell stood gazing at the first, While Christ for long-cursed man was counted cursed; Christ, God and Man, Whom God the Father strook And shamed and sifted and one while forsook:-- Cry shame upon our bodies we have nursed In sweets, our souls in pride, our spirits immersed In wilfulness, our steps run all acrook. Cry shame upon us! for He bore our shame In agony, and we look on at ease With neither hearts on flame nor cheeks on flame: What hast thou, what have I, to do with peace? Not to send peace but send a sword He came, And fire and fasts and tearful night-watches.
THE DESCENT FROM THE CROSS.
Is this the Face that thrills with awe Seraphs who veil their face above? Is this the Face without a flaw, The Face that is the Face of Love? Yea, this defaced, a lifeless clod, Hath all creation's love sufficed, Hath satisfied the love of God, This Face the Face of Jesus Christ.
"IT IS FINISHED."
Dear Lord, let me recount to Thee Some of the great things thou hast done For me, even me Thy little one.
It was not I that cared for Thee,-- But Thou didst set Thy heart upon Me, even me Thy little one.
And therefore was it sweet to Thee To leave Thy Majesty and Throne, And grow like me A Little One,
A swaddled Baby on the knee Of a dear Mother of Thine own, Quite weak like me Thy little one.
Thou didst assume my misery, And reap the harvest I had sown, Comforting me Thy little one.
Jerusalem and Galilee,-- Thy love embraced not those alone, But also me Thy little one.
Thy unblemished Body on the Tree Was bared and broken to atone For me, for me Thy little one.
Thou lovedst me upon the Tree,-- Still me, hid by the ponderous stone,-- Me always,--me Thy little one.
And love of me arose with Thee When death and hell lay overthrown: Thou lovedst me Thy little one.
And love of me went up with Thee To sit upon Thy Father's Throne: Thou lovest me Thy little one.
Lord, as Thou me, so would I Thee Love in pure love's communion, For Thou lov'st me Thy little one:
Which love of me brings back with Thee To Judgment when the Trump is blown, Still loving me Thy little one.
AN EASTER CAROL.
Spring bursts to-day, For Christ is risen and all the earth's at play.
Flash forth, thou Sun, The rain is over and gone, its work is done.
Winter is past, Sweet Spring is come at last, is come at last.
Bud, Fig and Vine, Bud, Olive, fat with fruit and oil and wine.
Break forth this morn In roses, thou but yesterday a Thorn.
Uplift thy head, O pure white Lily through the Winter dead.
Beside your dams Leap and rejoice, you merry-making Lambs.
All Herds and Flocks Rejoice, all Beasts of thickets and of rocks.
Sing, Creatures, sing, Angels and Men and Birds and everything.
All notes of Doves Fill all our world: this is the time of loves.
"BEHOLD A SHAKING."
1.
Man rising to the doom that shall not err,-- Which hath most dread: the arouse of all or each; All kindreds of all nations of all speech, Or one by one of _him_ and _him_ and _her_? While dust reanimate begins to stir Here, there, beyond, beyond, reach beyond reach; While every wave refashions on the beach Alive or dead-in-life some seafarer. Now meeting doth not join or parting part; True meeting and true parting wait till then, When whoso meet are joined for evermore, Face answering face and heart at rest in heart:-- God bring us all rejoicing to the shore Of happy Heaven, His sheep home to the pen.
2.
Blessèd that flock safe penned in Paradise; Blessèd this flock which tramps in weary ways; All form one flock, God's flock; all yield Him praise By joy or pain, still tending toward the prize. Joy speaks in praises there, and sings and flies Where no night is, exulting all its days; Here, pain finds solace, for, behold, it prays; In both love lives the life that never dies. Here life is the beginning of our death, And death the starting-point whence life ensues; Surely our life is death, our death is life: Nor need we lay to heart our peace or strife, But calm in faith and patience breathe the breath God gave, to take again when He shall choose.
ALL SAINTS.
They are flocking from the East And the West, They are flocking from the North And the South, Every moment setting forth From realm of snake or lion, Swamp or sand, Ice or burning; Greatest and least, Palm in hand And praise in mouth, They are flocking up the path To their rest, Up the path that hath No returning.
Up the steeps of Zion They are mounting, Coming, coming, Throngs beyond man's counting; With a sound Like innumerable bees Swarming, humming Where flowering trees Many-tinted, Many-scented, All alike abound With honey,-- With a swell Like a blast upswaying unrestrainable From a shadowed dell To the hill-tops sunny,-- With a thunder Like the ocean when in strength Breadth and length It sets to shore; More and more Waves on waves redoubled pour Leaping flashing to the shore (Unlike the under Drain of ebb that loseth ground For all its roar.)
They are thronging From the East and West, From the North and South, Saints are thronging, loving, longing, To their land Of rest, Palm in hand And praise in mouth.
"TAKE CARE OF HIM."
"Thou whom I love, for whom I died, Lovest thou Me, My bride?"-- Low on my knees I love Thee, Lord, Believed in and adored.
"That I love thee the proof is plain: How dost thou love again?"-- In prayer, in toil, in earthly loss, In a long-carried cross.
"Yea, thou dost love: yet one adept Brings more for Me to accept."-- I mould my will to match with Thine, My wishes I resign.
"Thou givest much: then give the whole For solace of My soul."-- More would I give, if I could get: But, Lord, what lack I yet?
"In Me thou lovest Me: I call Thee to love Me in all."-- Brim full my heart, dear Lord, that so My love may overflow.
"Love Me in sinners and in saints, In each who needs or faints."-- Lord, I will love Thee as I can In every brother man.
"All sore, all crippled, all who ache, Tend all for My dear sake."-- All for Thy sake, Lord: I will see In every sufferer, Thee.
"So I at last, upon My Throne Of glory, Judge alone, So I at last will say to thee: Thou diddest it to Me."
A MARTYR.
THE VIGIL OF THE FEAST.
Inner not outer, without gnash of teeth Or weeping, save quiet sobs of some who pray And feel the Everlasting Arms beneath,-- Blackness of darkness this, but not for aye; Darkness that even in gathering fleeteth fast, Blackness of blackest darkness close to day. Lord Jesus, through Thy darkened pillar cast, Thy gracious eyes all-seeing cast on me Until this tyranny be overpast. Me, Lord, remember who remember Thee, And cleave to Thee, and see Thee without sight, And choose Thee still in dire extremity, And in this darkness worship Thee my Light, And Thee my Life adore in shadow of death, Thee loved by day, and still beloved by night. It is the Voice of my Beloved that saith: "I am the Way, the Truth, the Life, I go Whither that soul knows well that followeth"--
O Lord, I follow, little as I know; At this eleventh hour I rise and take My life into my hand, and follow so, With tears and heart-misgivings and heart-ache; Thy feeblest follower, yet Thy follower Indomitable for Thine only sake. To-night I gird my will afresh, and stir My strength, and brace my heart to do and dare, Marvelling: Will to-morrow wake the whirr Of the great rending wheel, or from his lair Startle the jubilant lion in his rage, Or clench the headsman's hand within my hair, Or kindle fire to speed my pilgrimage, Chariot of fire and horses of sheer fire Whirling me home to heaven by one fierce stage? Thy Will I will, I Thy desire desire; Let not the waters close above my head, Uphold me that I sink not in this mire: For flesh and blood are frail and sore afraid; And young I am, unsatisfied and young, With memories, hopes, with cravings all unfed, My song half sung, its sweetest notes unsung, All plans cut short, all possibilities, Because my cord of life is soon unstrung. Was I a careless woman set at ease That this so bitter cup is brimmed for me?
Had mine own vintage settled on the lees? A word, a puff of smoke, would set me free; A word, a puff of smoke, over and gone:... Howbeit, whom have I, Lord, in heaven but Thee? Yea, only Thee my choice is fixed upon In heaven or earth, eternity or time:-- Lord, hold me fast, Lord, leave me not alone, Thy silly heartless dove that sees the lime Yet almost flutters to the tempting bough: Cover me, hide me, pluck me from this crime. A word, a puff of smoke, would save me now:... But who, my God, would save me in the day Of Thy fierce anger? only Saviour Thou. Preoccupy my heart, and turn away And cover up mine eyes from frantic fear, And stop mine ears lest I be driven astray: For one stands ever dinning in mine ear How my gray Father withers in the blight Of love for me, who cruel am and dear; And how my Mother through this lingering night Until the day, sits tearless in her woe, Loathing for love of me the happy light Which brings to pass a concourse and a show To glut the hungry faces merciless, The thousand faces swaying to and fro, Feasting on me unveiled in helplessness
Alone,--yet not alone: Lord, stand by me As once by lonely Paul in his distress. As blossoms to the sun I turn to Thee; Thy dove turns to her window, think no scorn; As one dove to an ark on shoreless sea, To Thee I turn mine eyes, my heart forlorn; Put forth Thy scarred right Hand, kind Lord, take hold Of me Thine all-forsaken dove who mourn: For Thou hast loved me since the days of old, And I love Thee Whom loving I will love Through life's short fever-fits of heat and cold; Thy Name will I extol and sing thereof, Will flee for refuge to Thy Blessèd Name. Lord, look upon me from thy bliss above: Look down on me, who shrink from all the shame And pangs and desolation of my death, Wrenched piecemeal or devoured or set on flame, While all the world around me holds its breath With eyes glued on me for a gazing-stock, Pitiless eyes, while no man pitieth. The floods are risen, I stagger in their shock, My heart reels and is faint, I fail, I faint: My God, set Thou me up upon the rock, Thou Who didst long ago Thyself acquaint With death, our death; Thou Who didst long ago
Pour forth Thy soul for sinner and for saint. Bear me in mind, whom no one else will know; Thou Whom Thy friends forsook, take Thou my part, Of all forsaken in mine overthrow; Carry me in Thy bosom, in Thy heart, Carry me out of darkness into light, To-morrow make me see Thee as Thou art. Lover and friend Thou hidest from my sight:-- Alas, alas, mine earthly love, alas, For whom I thought to don the garments white And white wreath of a bride, this rugged pass Hath utterly divorced me from thy care; Yea, I am to thee as a shattered glass Worthless, with no more beauty lodging there, Abhorred, lest I involve thee in my doom: For sweet are sunshine and this upper air, And life and youth are sweet, and give us room For all most sweetest sweetnesses we taste: Dear, what hast thou in common with a tomb? I bow my head in silence, I make haste Alone, I make haste out into the dark, My life and youth and hope all run to waste. Is this my body cold and stiff and stark, Ashes made ashes, earth becoming earth, Is this a prize for man to make his mark?
Am I, that very I who laughed in mirth A while ago, a little, little while, Yet all the while a-dying since my birth? Now am I tired, too tired to strive or smile; I sit alone, my mouth is in the dust: Look Thou upon me, Lord, for I am vile. In Thee is all my hope, is all my trust, On Thee I centre all my self that dies, And self that dies not with its mortal crust, But sleeps and wakes, and in the end will rise With hymns and hallelujahs on its lips, Thee loving with the love that satisfies. As once in Thine unutterable eclipse The sun and moon grew dark for sympathy, And earth cowered quaking underneath the drips Of Thy slow Blood priceless exceedingly, So now a little spare me, and show forth Some pity, O my God, some pity of me. If trouble comes not from the south or north, But meted to us by Thy tender hand, Let me not in Thine eyes be nothing worth: Behold me where in agony I stand, Behold me no man caring for my soul, And take me to Thee in the far-off land, Shorten the race and lift me to the goal.
WHY?
Lord, if I love Thee and Thou lovest me, Why need I any more these toilsome days; Why should I not run singing up Thy ways Straight into heaven, to rest myself with Thee? What need remains of death-pang yet to be, If all my soul is quickened in Thy praise; If all my heart loves Thee, what need the amaze, Struggle and dimness of an agony?-- Bride whom I love, if thou too lovest Me, Thou needs must choose My Likeness for thy dower: So wilt thou toil in patience, and abide Hungering and thirsting for that blessed hour When I My Likeness shall behold in thee, And thou therein shalt waken satisfied.
"LOVE IS STRONG AS DEATH."
"I have not sought Thee, I have not found Thee, I have not thirsted for Thee: And now cold billows of death surround me, Buffeting billows of death astound me,-- Wilt Thou look upon, wilt Thou see Thy perishing me?"
"Yea, I have sought thee, yea, I have found thee, Yea, I have thirsted for thee, Yea, long ago with love's bands I bound thee: Now the Everlasting Arms surround thee,-- Through death's darkness I look and see And clasp thee to Me."
BIRCHINGTON CHURCHYARD.
A lowly hill which overlooks a flat, Half sea, half country side; A flat-shored sea of low-voiced creeping tide Over a chalky, weedy mat.
A hill of hillocks, flowery and kept green Round Crosses raised for hope, With many-tinted sunsets where the slope Faces the lingering western sheen.