Part 9
Immortal eyes look from above Upon our joys to-night, And souls immortal in their love In our glad songs unite. Across the waveless crystal sea The notes triumphant ring-- “O Grave, where is thy victory? O Death, where is thy sting?”
“Sweet spirits, welcome yet again!” With loving hearts we cry; And, “Peace on earth, good will to men,” The angel hosts reply. From doubt and fear, through truth made free, With faith triumphant sing-- “O Grave, where is thy victory? O Death, where is thy sting?”
THE DIVINE IDEA.
WHEN the morning came with her eyes of flame, And looked on the youthful earth; When man, at the call of the Lord of All, Rose up in his glorious birth; When the stars rang out, with a tuneful shout To the mountains and the sea, And the world’s great heart, with a quickened start, Beat time to their melody;--
Ere the dawning light in the heavens grew bright, Ere the march of the hours began, God planted the seed of a mighty need, In the innermost soul of man. ’Twas the yearning wild that a little child For the fostering parent feels-- A holy thought with his life inwrought, Which his simplest act reveals.
The lion proud, like a servant, bowed At the might of his sovereign will; But to man alone was the sense made known Of a power that was higher still. Yet vague and dim was that thought to him; His simple and child-like mind Could not gaze aright on that matchless light, So boundless and unconfined.
Gross by birth from his mother Earth, He needed some outward sign; So the artisan planned, with a cunning hand, A _form_ of the Great Divine. And Baal, and Allah, and Juggernaut, And Brahma, and Zeus, and Pan, Show how deeply wrought was that one great thought, In the worshiping soul of man.
Then his Deity came in the morning’s flame, In the song of the sun-lit seas, In the stars at night, in the noontide light, In the woods and the murmuring breeze. To the Great Divine at the idol shrine, By each and by every name, Through the fiery death or the prayerful breath, The worship was still the same.
Like a grain in the sod grew the thought of God, As Nature’s slow work appears; From the zoöphyte small, to the “Lord of all,” Through cycles and sums of years. But the dark grew bright, and the night grew light, When the era of Truth began, And the soul was taught, through its primal thought, _Of the life of God in man_.
Then the soul arose from her long repose, At the Truth’s awakening breath, And fearlessly trod as a child of God, Triumphant o’er Time and Death. There came a sound from the wide world round, Like the surging of the sea, Majestic and deep in its onward sweep-- ’Twas the anthem of the free.
Through the ages dim has that holy hymn Come down to our listening ears; And still shall it float with a sweeter note Through the vista of coming years. And a voice makes known from the viewless throne, “As it hath been, shall it be-- On! on from the past! still on to the last! Like a river that seeks the sea.”
“Hour by hour, like an opening flower, Shall truth after truth expand; The sun may grow pale, and the stars may fail, But the purpose of God shall stand. Dogmas and creeds without kindred deeds, And altar and fane, shall fall; One bond of love, and one home above, And one faith shall be to all.”
THE PYRAMIDS.
“I was weary, very weary; but when I leaned against the Pyramids, _they_ gave me strength.”--KOSCIELSKI.
A WANDERER from his childhood’s home, An exile from his father-land, His weary feet were doomed to roam Far o’er the desert’s scorching sand. No mother o’er his pillow smiled, No sister’s hand a blessing lent; His only couch the desert wild, His only home an Arab tent.
Upon the classic shores of Greece, And by the imperial towers of Rome, He vainly sought to find that peace Denied him in his childhood’s home. Beneath Lake Leman’s watery bed, In Chillon’s dungeon damp and low, Communing with the mighty dead, His spirit felt a kindred glow.
He drank Circassia’s breath of bloom, He climbed the Alps’ eternal snows, He plucked the leaves by Virgil’s tomb, And stood where ancient Jordan flows. And where Napoleon’s falchion gleamed Along the borders of the Nile, The pilgrim exile slept, and dreamed He saw his own loved mother’s smile.
With weary feet he came, at last, Where, all untouched by Time’s rude hands, The Pyramids their shadows cast Upon the desert’s burning sands. Still in their works of greatness dwelt The spirits of these mighty men; Before their majesty he knelt! He rose--and he was strong again.
O thou! whose life is all inwrought With cheerful faith and strength sublime, Leave _thou_ some monumental thought Upon the desert waste of Time. Some exile from his native heaven May tread the path which thou hast trod, And through _thy works_ may strength be given To lift his spirit up to God.
THE INNER MYSTERY.
The following inspirational poem was delivered at a festival commemorative of the twentieth anniversary of the advent of Modern Spiritualism, held in Music Hall, Boston, March 31, 1868.
It is an allegorical description of the progress of a soul from the Valley of Superstition and Traditional Theology to the highest mountain peaks of Natural Philosophy and Spiritual Revelation. He is strengthened and encouraged in his progress by the voices “of the loved ones gone before.” At length, in the higher regions of metaphysical reasoning and abstract philosophy, he encounters the demon Doubt--a representative of popular Theology and traditional authority. This Doubt endeavors to make him distrust reason, and render a blind credence to mere authority. In the struggle with the demon the great Truth flashes with a realizing sense upon the soul, that by its inherent nature _it is older than all forms of Truth, and one with God himself_. In the strength of this conviction he conquers, and the demon is slain.
Thus “THE INNER MYSTERY” is revealed, and the unfolding of the spiritual perceptions follows as a legitimate result.
“According to Fichte, there is a Divine Idea pervading the visible universe; which visible universe is indeed but its symbol and sensible manifestation, having in itself no meaning, or even true existence, independent of it. To the mass of men this Divine Idea lies hidden; yet to discern it, to seize it, and live wholly in it, is the condition of all genuine virtue, knowledge, freedom, and the end, therefore, of all spiritual effort in every age.”--CARLYLE.
In the valley, where the darkness Dropped its poisonous vapors on my head, Where the night winds moaned and murmured, Like the voices of the troubled dead, Groping, stumbling, weary and alone, Did I make the earth my bed, And my pillow was a stone.
O, that slumber! It was long, and dark, and deep, Till a voice cried, “Come up hither!” And I started from my sleep.
“Whither?” cried I; and it answered, “Come up hither! for the day is dawning; Through the gates of amethyst and amber Shines the kindling glory of the morning.”
Gazing upward, I beheld assurance of the day; Hopeful-hearted, O’er the mountain-path I took my way. ’Mid the pine trees Did I hear life’s drowsy pulses start, Swinging, singing, Making sweet, but mournful music, Thrilling, filling, All the lonely places of my heart.
Then the embers of the morning, Smouldering on night’s funeral pyre, Kindling into sudden brightness, Lit the mountain-peaks with fire; And the quickened heart of Nature Answered from her Memnon lyre. Eager, earnest, still ascending, Toward the glories of the day, I could hear that voice my steps attending, With the matin-hymn of Nature blending, Ever crying, “Come up hither!” And I followed in the way.
Bright the sky glowed with celestial splendor, Like the light of love from God’s own eyes; And the lofty mountains seemed to tender Back their crowns of glory to the skies. Far above me, In the hights so terrible and grand, I could see the glaciers gleaming In the hollow of the mountain’s hand. Flashing, dashing, From the steeps the foaming cataract poured, Over pathways Which the mighty avalanche had scored. Dim and ghostly Rose the silvery clouds of wreathéd spray, Rainbow-mantled, Vanishing in upper air away. Elfin shadows O’er my lonely pathway leaped and played, As the pine trees Dreamily their murmuring branches swayed. All the air seemed filled with voices, Which I ne’er had thought to hear again; And I fled, to leave behind me, Sounds of pleasure close allied to pain. Upward, onward, did I speed my way, Nearer to the perfect source of day. Awed by beauty and by terror, Tearful, prayerful, did I sink, Where the tender, blue-eyed gentian Bloomed upon the glacier’s brink.
“Save me! O thou loving Lord!” I cried, “From the unforeseen intrusion Of this sad, but sweet delusion, From this strange and cruel semblance To the cherished love that long since died.
“Come up hither!” Cried my unknown guide who went before. “Come up hither!” And I followed in the way once more,-- Upward, where the tempests gathered, Where the lightnings crouched within their lair, Where the mighty God of thunder With his hammer smote the shuddering air, Where the tall cliffs, battle-splintered, Reared their lofty summits, bleak and bare; Higher yet, where all my life-tide, With the breath of Heaven grew chill; And I felt my pulses quickened, With a strange, electric thrill.
Not one blossom brightened in my pathway, Not one lichen dared that wintry breath; But far up above, and all around me, Brooded awful silence, as of death. And I walked where ragged precipices, Overhanging wild and dark abysses, Frowned upon the dizzy depths below; Where the yawning chasms, Rent by earthquake spasms, Strove to fill their hungry throats with snow. Burdened with a sense of solemn grandeur, With a deeply reverent heart I trod ’Mid those awful and majestic altars Of the Unknown God. Musing deeply, As I turned an angle of the rocky wall, Lo! before me Stood a figure, ghostly, gaunt, and tall; Like the famous, fabled image, Falling from Dardanian skies, Wrapped in white, marmorial silence, Did he greet my wondering eyes.
Straight upon the narrow pathway, Fixed as fate, he seemed to stand, With a widely yawning chasm, And a wall on either hand.
“Come up hither! come up hither!” Cried the voice that went before; And my spirit leaped impatient To obey the call once more.
“Let me pass, I pray thee,” Said I in a calm and courteous tone; But he only gazed upon me, With a face as passionless as stone.
“Prithee, stand aside!” I said more firmly, “For I may not stay; I must reach the mountain-hights above me Ere the close of day.”
But he stirred not, spake not, breathed not, Only turned his stony eyes Downward--to the yawning chasm, Upward--to the distant skies.
“Wherefore,” said I, With a slowly kindling wrath, “Do you seek to stay my progress, Do you stand across my path? What am I to thee, or thou to me? Stand aside, or prithee, sirrah, Which is stronger we shall shortly see.
Like a statue did he stand--the same. Then my smothered wrath waxed hotter; “Demon! speak thy name and tell thine errand!” Cried I, with a loudly ringing shout; And his cold lips parted, as he answered, “I am DOUBT.
“Go no farther, For a phantom lures thee on thy way; Upward striving Will not bring thee nearer to the perfect day. In the valley All is warmth, and rest, and kindly cheer; Go no farther; It is _lone_ and _very cold up here_.
“Trust not to your erring Reason All your aspirations to control; Man grows ripe before the season When he heeds the promptings of the soul.
“Come up hither! come up hither,” Cried the tuneful voice again; “Doubt should never counsel duty, When the way of truth is plain.
“Stay!” replied the watchful demon; “Thou _shalt_ lend an ear to Doubt, For, by Heaven! thou shalt not pass me Until thou hast heard me out. Thou art deeply cursed from the beginning, All thy nature is corrupt with sinning; God refuses thee his grace to-day; Christ alone his righteous wrath can stay. All thy prayerful aspiration But retards thy soul’s salvation; All the efforts of thy godless will Make thy deep damnation deeper still. O thou self-deluded dreamer! O thou transcendental schemer! Leave thine idle speculations, Trances, visions, exaltations, And thy toilsome upward progress stay. By thy fallen, lost condition, By the depths of thy perdition, I have promised, Yea, have _sworn_, to turn thee from this way.
“Come up hither! come up hither!” Cried the voice persuasive from above. Then I looked, and bending o’er me, I beheld my long-lost angel love.
“Back!” I shouted to the demon. “Never!” in a measured tone he said, “Till the final resurrection, Till the earth and sea give up their dead.”
Then I smote him-- Smote him in the forehead and the eyes; And I shouted, “I will not be cozened by your lies! Go to cowards With your Hebrew husks and pious pelf, FOR MY SOUL IS OLDER THAN THE TRUTH, ONE WITH GOD HIMSELF.”
Then my blows fell fiercer, harder, hotter, Till he yielded Like the clay-formed vessel of a potter; And I crashed into his brainless skull, Smote his stony eyes out, cold and dull; Into shards amorphous dashed his lips profane, And, as brittle as a bubble, Clove his shattered trunk in twain. Then, as if God’s mill-stones surely Had been given me in trust, On the rock I stood securely, And those fragments ground to dust.
But, O, God! what wondrous transformation Seized me in its mighty grasp of power! As a bud, by Nature’s potent magic, Bursts at once into a perfect flower! Like the record of a wise historian, Lay unsealed the wondrous Book of Life; Swelling grandly, like a chant Gregorian, Perfect unison arose from strife; And I knew then that this grim, defiant elf, That this clay-born image, was my weaker self; That this demon, Doubt, with which I held such strife, Was the sense’s logic--the phenomena of life; And as Perseus slew the fabled Gorgon, Must this mocking fiend be met and slain, That transfixed in cold and stony silence Faith and Hope no longer might remain. Only when the conscious soul asserted What the flesh and sense so long concealed, GOD WITHIN--ONE WITH THE WEAK AND HUMAN, Did the INNER MYSTERY stand revealed. O, what glorious consummation to my strife! Death of Death! and Life unto Eternal Life! All around, the grand and awful mountains Hushed in silent reverence seemed to stand, White and shining, Like the pearly portals of the better land. Then I heard the angels singing, Soft and clear the sweet notes ringing, Dropping gently like a golden rain From the treasured wealth of day; And I caught these words of blessing, Floating down the heavenly way:--
SONG OF THE ANGELS.
“O, what is the life of the soul, But the life of the Infinite Whole? For God and his creatures are One, As the tide from the ocean of light, Which sets through the day and the night, Is the same in the star-beam or sun.
“He hath laid out the sea and the land; He hath balanced the Heavens in his hand; And the Earth, in that order sublime, How greatly and grandly she rolls, And casts off her harvests of souls, In the boundless fruition of Time!
“We ask not his face to behold; Of his glory we need not be told; For the Word of his witness is near. His Life is the Infinite Light, Which quickens our blindness to sight; And he speaks that his children may hear.
“He suffers and sins with them all; He stands, or he falls when they fall; For he is both substance and breath. Their strength from his greatness they draw; His wisdom and will are their law; And he is their Saviour in death.
“When the depths of all hearts are unsealed Shall the word of his truth be revealed, That MAN is by NATURE DIVINE; And faith in God’s presence within, Shall strengthen the spirit to win A peace which no tongue can define.”
* * * * *
Then the music floated upward, Where the light of parting day, With its gold and crimson glory, On the mountain summits lay; And it left me longing, praying, And with quickened steps essaying Swift the nearest hights to gain, That my captivated being Might unto a clearer seeing Of those fading forms attain. And ere long, with hands uplifted, Kneeling on the mountain high, Out into the listening silence Did I send my pleading cry:-- “O thou beauteous land of Beulah, Just beyond my longing sight! O ye bright ones, loved and lovely, Dwelling in celestial light! Leave, O! leave me not behind you With the darkness and the night!” In the sunshine and the shadow, Then I saw an open door; And a voice cried, “Come up hither! Life is yours forevermore.” Gales of Araby around me Seemed to wave their fragrant wings; Strains of music, low and tender, Thrilled along celestial strings. Like a spotless lily, blending Matchless bloom and breath divine, Did my lost one, long lamented, Lay her soft white hand in mine; And uplifted, Strangely gifted, With a power unknown before, Did my love and I together Enter at the open door.
* * * * *
Lo! again those bright immortals, As their fadeless flowers they wreathe, Words of greeting oft repeating, Celebrate this festive eve. Listen to their tuneful message For the hearts that joy or grieve:--
SONG OF THE MINISTERING SPIRITS.
“Truth’s heralds bright, With feet of light, Upon Life’s mountains stand, Sent to proclaim, In God’s high name, Glad tidings to the land. With smiles of love They wait above, And, ‘Come up hither!’ cry. When souls shall climb Life’s hights sublime, Then Death itself shall die.
“The little child, Whose bright eyes smiled, Whom angel-hands upbore, The good, the kind, The pure in mind, Glide through Life’s open door. With voices sweet, Their lips repeat The chorus of the sky:-- ‘All souls shall be From doubt made free, And Death itself shall die.’
“Joy crowns with flowers Life’s summer-hours, When storms of sorrow cease; And wintry snows, And calm repose, Bring thoughts of holy peace. Thus pales or burns Life’s star by turns, As swift the moments fly; But winter’s blight, And sorrow’s night, And Death itself, shall die.
“From Death’s abyss To hights of bliss Must souls immortal strive; While loss and gain, And peace and pain, Shall keep their faith alive. But higher still, With tireless will, Their course shall upward lie, Till palms shall wave Above the grave, And Death itself shall die.”
FOOTNOTES:
[1] The garment which caused the death of Hercules.
[2] Since the above poem was given, through the pressure of public opinion, she has been pardoned, and sent back to England.
[3] Socrates.
[4] Pronounced Ig-war-no-don.
[5] The name signifies a small laurel-wreath.
[6] If.
[7] Perhaps.
[8] Very great.
[9] Against.
[10] Every.
[11] Cunning.
[12] Daisy.
[13] Each tottering child.
[14] Humble cot.
[15] Walk crazily.
[16] Contrary.
[17] Referring to the dogma of the Immaculate Conception.
[18] Since.
[19] Mend.
[20] Sorrow.
[21] Very proud.
[22] Go astray.
[23] Praying.
[24] Birchen grove.
[25] Flowers.
[26] Larks.
[27] Running brooks.
[28] Dove.
[29] Friend.
[30] Money.
[31] Each.
[32] Heaven above.
[33] Shelter.
[34] My darling.
[35] I shall never see thee more.
[36] The favorite hymn of Theodore Parker.