Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward: Verses about Soul

Oh, was it a death-dream not dreamed through,
That eyed her like a foe?
Or only a sorrow left over from life,
Half-finished years ago?


How long was it since she died-who told?
Or yet what was death-who knew?
She said: 'I am come to Heaven at last,
And I'll do as the blessèd do.'


But the custom of earth was stronger than Heaven,
And the habit of life than death,
How should an anguish as old as thought
Be healed by the end of breath?


Tissue and nerve and pulse of her soul
Had absorbed the disease of woe.
The strangest of all the angels there
Was Joy. (Oh, the wretched know!)


'I am too tired with earth,' she said,
'To rest me in Paradise.
Give me a spot to creep away,
And close my heavy eyes.


'I must learn to be happy in Heaven,' she said,
'As we learned to suffer below.'-
'Our ways are not your ways,' he said,
'And ours the ways you go.'


As love, too wise for a word, puts by
All a woman's weak alarms,
Joy hushed her lips, and gathered her
Into his mighty arms.


He took her to his holy heart,
And there-for he held her fast-
The saddest spirit in the world,
Came to herself at last.

I

As sentient as a wedding-bell,
The vibrant air throbs calling her
Whose eager body, earwise curved,
Leans listening at the heart of hell.
She is one nerve of hearing, strained
To love and suffer, hope and fear-
Thus, hearkening for her Love, she waits,
Whom no man's daring heart has gained.


II

Oh, to be sound to such an ear!
Song, carol, vesper, comfort near,
Sweet words, at sweetest, whispered low,
Or dearer silence, happiest so.
By little languages of love
Her finer audience to prove;
A tenderness untried, to fit
To soul and sense so exquisite;
The blessed Orpheus to be
At last, to such Eurydice!


III

I listened in hell! I listened in hell!
Down in the dark I heard your soul
Singing mine out to the holy sun.
Deep in the dark I heard your feet
Ringing the way of Love in hell.
Into the flame you strode and stood.
Out of the flame you bore me well,
As I listened in hell.


IV

I listen in hell! I listen in hell!
Who trod the fire? Where was the scorch?
Clutched, clasped, and saved, what a tale was to tell
-Heaven come down to hell!
Oh, like a spirit you strove for my sake!
Oh, like a man you looked back for your own!
Back, though you loved me heavenly well,
Back, though you lost me. The gods did decree,
And I listen in hell.

Master! let stronger lips than these
Turn melody to harmony,
Poet! mine tremble as they crave
A word alone with thee.


Thy songs melt on the vibrant air,
The wild birds know them, and the wind;
The common light hath claim on them,
The common heart and mind.


And air, and light, and wind, shall be
Thy fellow-singers, while they say
How seventy years of music stir
The common pulse to-day.


Hush, sweetest songs! Mine ears are deaf
To all of ye save only one.
Blind are the eyes that turn the leaf
Against the Autumn sun.


Oh, blinder once were fading eyes,
Close folded now from shine and rain,
And duller were the dying ears
That heard the chosen strain.


Stay, solemn chant! 'T is mine to sing
Your notes alone below the breath.
'T is mine to bless the poet who
Can bless the hour of death.


For once a spirit 'sighed for home,'
A 'longed-for light whereby to see,'
And 'wearied,' found the way to them,
O Christian seer, through thee!


Passed-with thy words on paling lips,
Passed-with thy courage to depart;
Passed-with thy trust within the soul,
Thy music in the heart.


Oh, calm above our restlessness,
And rich beyond our dreaming, yet
In heaven, I know, one owes to thee
A glad and grateful debt.


From it may learn some tenderer art,
May find and take some better way
Than all our tenderest and best,
To crown thy life to-day.

FOR A BROTHER'S INSTALLATION

Lord, are there any stones upon the way,
That tear Thy bleeding feet?
If our weak hands can move them from Thy path,
Give us that duty sweet.


Is there, O patient and pathetic Face!
One thorn upon Thy brow
That we can pluck from out Thy cruel crown?
For we would do it now.


Is there a deed so difficult for us
That none but Thou canst ask?
Thine asking be our answering. Lo! swift
Be ours that happy task.


Lord, hast Thou left Thy hungry in the world
For us to find, to feed?
Sharper the hungers of the soul. Give us
Nutrition for that need.


And hast Thou prisoners unvisited,
Whose woes our care should tell?
There is a deeper prison of the heart;
Help us to find that cell.


Is there a mourner dear to Thee, whom we
Have left uncomforted?
Yet still through lonelier loneliness, the heart
Bereft of Thee, is led.


O world of common, human cries! and calls
Of souls in direst need!
To meet ye, mighty were the love that sought
To take the Master's speed.


Give us that love, dear God, who gave to us
To bear His loving name.
Give us that sacred speed to keep the step
That strikes with His the same.


Waves of one tide, this people be! and flow
Straight shoreward to Thy will.
White as a dove, upon them, now descend
Thy Spirit, strong and still.


Thy blessings on their future rest and brood,
-The brightest, lip can tell,-
In home and heart, in faith and fact, O best
Of daily mercy! dwell.


With those who summon-trusting it to lead
Their feet to walk Christ's way-
The voice of him on whose bowed head, I call
The grace of God to-day.

Oh, not to you, my mentor sweet,
And stern as only sweetness can,
Whose grave eyes look out steadfastly
Across my nature's plan,


And take unerring measure down
Where'er that plan is failed or foiled,
Thinking far less of purpose kept
Than of a vision spoiled.


And tender less to what I am,
Than sad for what I might have been;
And walking softly before God
For my soul's sake, I ween.


'T is not to you, my spirit leans,
O grave, true judge! When spent with strife,
And groping out of gloom for light,
And out of death for life.


Nor yet to you, who calmly weigh
And measure every grace and fault,
Whose martial nature never turns
From right to left, to halt


For any glamour of the heart,
Or any glow that ever is,
Grander than Truth's high noonday glare,
In love's sweet sunrises;


Who know me by the duller hues
Of common nights and common days,
And in their sober atmospheres
Find level blame and praise.


True hearts and dear! 't is not in you,
This fainting, warring soul of mine
Finds silver carven chalices,
To hold life's choicest wine


Unto its thirsty lips, and bid
It drink, and breathe, and battle on,
Till all its dreams are deeds at last,
And all its heights are won.


I turn to you, confiding love.
O lifted eyes! look trustfully,
Till Heaven shall lend you other light,
Like kneeling saints-on me.


And let me be to you, dear eyes,
The thing I am not, till I, too,
Shall see as I am seen, and stand
At last revealed to you.


And let me nobler than I am,
And braver still, eternally,
And finer, truer, purer, than
My finest, purest, be


To your sweet vision. There I stand
Transfigured fair in love's deceit,
And while your soul looks up to mine,
My heart lies at your feet.


Believe me better than my best,
And stronger than my strength can hold,
Until your magic faith transmute
My pebbles into gold.


I'll be the thing you hold me, Dear!-
After I'm dead, if not before-
Nor, through the climbing ages, will
I give the conflict o'er.


But if upon the Perfect Peace,
And past the thing that was, and is,
And past the lure of voices, in
A world of silences,


A pain can crawl-a little one-
A cloud upon a sunlit land;
I think in Heaven my heart must ache-
That you should understand.