Frederick George Scott: Verses about Sleep

WHY hurry, little river,
Why hurry to the sea?
There is nothing there to do
But to sink into the blue
And all forgotten be.
There is nothing on that shore
But the tides for evermore,
And the faint and far-off line
Where the winds across the brine
For ever, ever roam
And never find a home.

Why hurry, little river,
From the mountains and the mead,
Where the graceful elms are sleeping
And the quiet cattle feed?
The loving shadows cool
The deep and restful pool;
And every tribute stream
Brings its own sweet woodland dream
Of the mighty woods that sleep
Where the sighs of earth are deep,
And the silent skies look down
On the savage mountain's frown.

Oh, linger, little river,
Your banks are all so fair,
Each morning is a hymn of praise,
Each evening is a prayer.
All day the sunbeams glitter
On your shallows and your bars,
And at night the dear God stills you
With the music of the stars.

WINTER forests mutely standing
Naked on your bed of snow,
Wide your knotted arms expanding
To the biting winds that blow,
Nought ye heed of storm or stress,
Stubborn, silent, passionless.

Buried is each woodland treasure,
Gone the leaves and mossy rills,
Gone the birds that filled with pleasure
All the valleys and the hills;
Ye alone of all that host
Stand like soldiers at your post.

Grand old trees, the words ye mutter,
Nodding in the frosty wind,
Wake some thoughts I cannot utter,
But which haunt the heart and mind,
With a meaning, strange and deep,
As of visions seen in sleep.

Something in my inmost thinking
Tells me I am one with you,
For a subtle bond is linking
Nature's offspring through and through,
And your spirit like a flood
Stirs the pulses of my blood.

While I linger here and listen
To the crackling boughs above,
Hung with icicles that glisten
As if kindling into love,
Human heart and soul unite
With your majesty and might.

Horizontal, rich with glory,
Through the boughs the red sun's rays
Clothe you as some grand life-story
Robes an aged man with praise,
When, before his setting sun,
Men recount what he has done.

But the light is swiftly fading,
And the wind is icy cold,
And a mist the moon is shading,
Pallid in the western gold;
In the night-winds still ye nod,
Sentinels of Nature's God.

Now with laggard steps returning
To the world from whence I came,
Leave I all the great West burning
With the day that died in flame, .
And the stars, with silver ray,
Light me on my homeward way.

I hear a cry from the Sansard cave,
O mother, will no one hearken?
A cry of the lost, will no one save?
A cry of the dead, though the oceans rave,
And the scream of a gull as he wheels o'er a grave,
While the shadows darken and darken.'

'Oh, hush thee, child, for the night is wet,
And the cloud-caves split asunder,
With lightning in a jagged fret,
Like the gleam of a salmon in the net,
When the rocks are rich in the red sunset,
And the stream rolls down in thunder.'

'Mother, O mother, a pain at my heart,
A pang like the pang of dying.'
'Oh, hush thee, child, for the wild birds dart
Up and down, and close and part,
Wheeling round where the black cliffs start,
And the foam at their feet is flying.'

'O mother, a strife like the black clouds'
And a peace that cometh after.'
'Hush, child, for peace is the end of life,
And the heart of a maiden finds peace as a wife,
But the sky and the cliffs and the ocean are rife
With the storm and thunder's laughter.'

'Come in, my sons, come in and rest,
For the shadows darken and darken,
And your sister is pale as the white swan's breast,
And her eyes are fixed and her lips are pressed
In the death of a name ye might have guessed,
Had ye twain been here to hearken.'

'Hush, mother, a corpse lies on the sand,
And the spray is round it driven,
It lies on its face, and one white hand
Points through the mist on the belt of strand
To where the cliffs of Sansard stand,
And the ocean's strength is riven.'

'Was it God, my sons, who laid him there?
Or the sea that left him sleeping?'
'Nay, mother, our dirks where his heart was bare,
As swift as the rain through the teeth of the air;
And the foam-fingers play in the Saxon's hair,
While the tides are round him creeping.'

'Oh, curses on you, hand and head,
Like the rains in this wild weather
The guilt of blood is swift and dread,
Your sister's face is cold and dead,
Ye may not part whom God would wed
And love hath knit together.'

HOPE? What! hope !—you say there is hope for the long-lost one!
Hope! when the light is out; hope! when the oil is done;
Hope! No, no, good lady! no hope for me, at least;
No home for me but the clammy grave when life has ceased.
Hope! Well, there might have been hope had my mother lived; but, then,
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God struck her dead, and I was left alone among men.
God knows how I loved her; and shall I never see her again?
Is there no glimpse of heaven for those who are doomed to pain?
Oh, cannot she come and kiss me? Oh, cannot she pray by my side,
As she did long ago on that terrible evening before she died?
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If she prayed God would hear her, and perhaps—but no;
I'm too old a sinner for mercy—there is nothing for me but woe.

You say that I yet could be saved if I sorrowed for my sin;
That the Lord is at heaven's gate to take poor sinners in!
God knows that I hate my sin, but I feel that it cannot be;

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I've so often forsaken Him, that He must have forsaken me.
Nay, don't offer a prayer for me, lady, it's only mocking at God:
Who knows but my tired heart still may rest beneath the sod?
For I always loved the sunny fields and the sweet, sweet flowers,
And longed to be pure once again like them, in my better hours.
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But after I first had fallen the devil opened my eyes,
And I saw that the world knew my shame, and I hadn't the heart to rise;
So I gave up trying to be good, and sank down lower in sin,
Tho' the thought of poor dead mother made me always hate it within.
Oh, many's the night that I've wandered about thro' rain and snow,
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Wandered about in the street, and didn't know where had to go;
And I've often crept to the river and looked at it, still and black,
And thought how every one spurned me—but something held me back.
I remember how once, when I stopped, half-dead, one rainy day,
To rest on his steps for a moment, the servants drove me away;
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Drove me away like a dog from the door of the man for whom,
O God! I had given up all in this world and beyond the tomb.
But don't weep at my story, good lady; I'm not worth it living or dead!
Ha, ha! I'm not frightened of Death, nor the devils that dance round my bed:
There cannot be any hell deeper nor fuller of devils and strife
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Than the hell that burns in my heart, and the fire that eats out life.

Plunged in night, I sit alone
Eyeless on this dungeon stone,
Naked, shaggy, and unkempt,
Dreaming dreams no soul hath dreamt.

Rats and vermin round my feet
Play unharmed, companions sweet;
Spiders weave me overhead
Silken curtains for my bed.

Day by day the mould I smell
Of this fungus-blistered cell;
Nightly in my haunted sleep
O'er my face the lizards creep.

Gyves of iron scrape and burn
Wrists and ankles when I turn,
And my collared neck is raw
With the teeth of brass that gnaw.

God of Israel, canst Thou see
All my fierce captivity?
Do Thy sinews feel my pains?
Hearest Thou the clanking chains?

Thou who madest me so fair,
Strong and buoyant as the air,
Tall and noble as a tree,
With the passions of the sea,

Swift as horse upon my feet,
Fierce as lion in my heat,
Rending, like a wisp of hay,
All that dared withstand my way,

Canst Thou see me through the gloom
Of this subterranean tomb, --
Blinded tiger in his den,
Once the lord and prince of men?

Clay was I; the potter Thou
With Thy thumb-nail smooth'dst my brow,
Rolltdst the spittle-moistened sands
Into limbs between Thy hands.

Thou didst pour into my blood
Fury of the fire and flood,
And upon the boundless skies,
Thou didst first unclose my eyes.

And my breath of life was flame,
God-like from the source it came,
Whirling round like furious wind,
Thoughts upgathered in the mind.

Strong Thou mad'st me, till at length
All my weakness was my strength;
Tortured am I, blind and wrecked,
For a faulty architect.

From the woman at my side,
Was I woman-like to hide
What she asked me, as if fear
Could my iron heart come near?

Nay, I scorned and scorn again
Cowards who their tongues restrain;
Cared I no more for Thy laws
Than a wind of scattered straws.

When the earth quaked at my name
And my blood was all aflame,
Who was I to lie, and cheat
Her who clung about my feet?

From Thy open nostrils blow
Wind and tempest, rain and snow;
Dost Thou curse them on their course,
For the fury of their force?

Tortured am I, wracked and bowed,
But the soul vvithin is proud;
Dungeon fetters cannot still
Forces of the tameless will.

Israel's God, come down and see
All my fierce captivity;
Let Thy sinews feel my pains,
With Thy fingers lift my chains,

Then, with thunder loud and wild,
Comfort Thou Thy rebel child,
And with lightning split in twain
Loveless heart and sigthtless brain.

Give me splendour in my death --
Not this sickening dungeon breath,
Creeping down my blood like slime,
Till it wastes me in my prime.

Give me back for one blind hour,
Half my former rage and power,
And some giant crisis send,
Meet to prove a hero's end.

Then, O God, Thy mercy show --
Crush him in the overthrow
At whose life they scorn and point,
By its greatness out of joint.

AS some great cloud upon a mountain's breast,
Hanging for ever, shutteth out the sun,
Its chilly fingers twining in the trees
And blighting them, so ever one dark thought
Broods o'er my life and makes my spirit droop
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Beneath its baleful shade. A demon form
Is ever at my side, whose icy touch
Freezes my warmest thoughts, and makes them hang
Like dull, cold icicles about my heart.
I feel his presence 'mid my fellow-men;
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I see his image in the restless sea
That gnaws the land; and on the towering top,
Where everything is still, amid the rocks,
Worn bald by fleeting years, I hear his tread.
I see his footsteps in the lonely wild,
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Where forests ever spring and ever die;
But, most of all, I feel him near the night,
When all the world is shrouded in the gloom
Of dreamful Sleep,—so like his brother Death;
I see his eyeballs on the glittering sky;
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I hear his laughter ringing from the stars,
That look at me and say, "O helpless worm,
Upon the world of worms, dost thou not know
The dust thou treadest in was once like thee,
And laughed its laugh, and had its time to weep,
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And now lies helpless, trampled on, forgot,
Scattered upon thy tiny globe which hangs
Chained to its sun in black infinity?
That thou—thou, too—must soon be dust again,
Forgotten, helpless, trampled on by those
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That shall come after thee?"
I even hear
His voice amid the voices of my friends,
Harsh, taunting me with death, and dreams of death.
And, when I gaze in rapture on the face
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Of whom I love, he casts a hideous light,
That lets me see, behind the sweet, warm flesh,
The lightless skull, and o'er the rounded form
The shades of death, aye dark and darker growing,
Until the life-light melts into the night.
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Oh, would that I could break the cursèd chain
That binds this monster to me! for my life
Is like some gloomy valley that lies chill
Beneath a frowning precipice. And yet
The thread of gloom is woven in my being,
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And I am loth to rend it, for my thoughts
Have long been shaded by it. Ever since
I first could play, I used to watch the boys,
So joyous in their sports, and saw them men,
Grown chilly-hearted in a chilly world,
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Grown weary with the burden of their life,
All restless, seeking rest yet finding change;
And then I saw the gathering shadows lower
Upon the evening of their life, and then
They merged into the dark, and all was still—
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Dust under dust, forgotten by the world
In ugly loathsomeness.
The demon still
Was at my side in after-years, and threw
A shade on every friendship, as a cloud
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Floats past the sun and dims the flowering fields.
Oft have I wondered at the woodland stream
That dances on, through dappled-lighted woods,
O'er mossy pebbles glinting in the sun,
Like eyes of merry children round the fire,
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And never seems to think that it must thread
The misty fen, where every flower grows rank
Amid the lazy ooze, and sink at last
Beneath the boundless sea. Oh, happy they,
Who thus go laughing on from year to year,
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And never know the mystery of being,
And never start and shudder at the dream
That they and all mankind are dreaming—Life,
And strive to wake, but fall back helplessly;
Who fancy sunlight, when the sky is dark,
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And never know that time, like India's snake,
Enwraps us with his gaudy-coloured folds
Of changing seasons, till his dread embrace
Has crushed out life; who live, and laugh, and weep,
And tread the dust of myriads underfoot,
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And see men die around them, yet whose life,
The demon form that stalks beside my path,
The consciousness of never-ending change,
Has never darkened, as it darkens mine,
Beneath the shadow of the wings of Death.

PART I

IN the land that is neither night nor day,
Where the mists sleep over the forests grey,
A sad, sad spirit wandered away.
The woods are still—no brooks, no wind,
No fair green meadows can she find;
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But a low red light in the sky behind.
Far over the plain, to the spirit's sight,
The city's towers are black as night,
Against the edge of the low red light.

This side the city in darkness lies,
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But westward, at the glowering skies,
It glares with a thousand fiery eyes.
The road is long, the hedgerows bare,
There's the chill of death in the silent air,
And a glimmer of darkness everywhere.
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'O sad, sad spirit, what thy quest,
With those flowing locks and that shadowy vest? '
The spirit answers, 'I seek for rest.'
'Where seekest rest, when the air is cold
On the long, dim road, and the clock hath tolled
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The muffled hours form the belfry old?
'Where seekest rest through the twilight grey
Of the mists that sleep on the woods alway? '—
'I seek to-morrow or yesterday! '

Her face is pale, her feet are bare,
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Her sad dark eyes, wide open, stare
At the glimmering darkness everywhere.
To those cheeks no rose hath summer brought,
But on their pallor time hath wrought
The troubled lines of an after-thought.
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Her arms are crossed upon her breast,
Her round limbs shape the shadowy vest,
And thus, all silent, seeks she rest.
Her tread is light on the cold, hard road;
For the tread may be light, yet heavy the load
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Of grief at the heart and thoughts that goad.
She plucks a leaf from the roadway side,
And under its shade two violets hide—
As if from her cold touch, they hide.

She twines the violets in her hair;
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They have no scent—she does not care,
For the glimmer of darkness is everywhere.
And on through the dim of the twilight grey,
While the pale sky gloweth far away,
She seeks to-morrow or yesterday.
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PART II

'O Abbess, Abbess, the air is chill!
I heard the chaunting over the hill,
Like an angel's voice when the soul is still.
'O, Abbess, open wide thy gate!
Out on the cold, dim road I wait,
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A spirit lone and desolate.
'Take thou these hands and these weary feet,
Cold as a corpse in its winding-sheet,
For the song of the nuns was so strange and sweet.

'Here with the sisters let me dwell,
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Under these walls, in the loneliest cell,
Waiting the sound of the matin bell.
'Cut off these locks of flowing hair,
Cover with weeds this bosom bare,
For the glimmer of darkness is everywhere.
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'Ask not my name, nor whence my way,
For the mist sleeps over the wood alway,
And I seek to-morrow or yesterday.'
She's passed beneath the chapel door;
The nuns are kneeling on the floor,
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But a low wind moaneth evermore.
Sweeter and sweeter the sisters sing,
Till high in the roof the echoes ring,
For they know that God is listening.

'Ave Maria, hear our cry,
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As the shadows roll across the sky,
For those that live and those that die!
'Ave Maria, Virgin blest,
Help the sin-stained and distrest,
Give the weary-hearted rest!
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'Ave Maria, who didst bear
Jesus in this world of care,
Grant us all thy bliss to share! '
Sweeter and sweeter the sisters sing,
From arch to arch the echoes ring,
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For they know that God is listening.
Out of the north the oceans roll,
Washing the lands from pole to pole:
No rest—no rest for the old world's soul.

The after-glow of suns that set
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O'er fields with morning dew once wet,
Where all life's flowering roadways met,
Long shadows of our joys has sent,
Sloping adown the way we went
Towards darkness where our feet are bent.
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Is it the moan of the evening wind?
Or the voice of the ocean in the mind,
While the pale red light looms up behind?
Is it moan of wind, or convent bell,
Or cry of the ocean? I cannot tell;
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But a voice in her heart has locked the spell.
She does not hear the organ's swell;
In vain she strives her beads to tell,
For a voice in her heart has locked the spell.

She broods among the tangled fears,
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The undergrowth of perished years,
That darken round the lake of tears.
Silent and dank, they fringe the brim
Of waters motionless and dim,
Unmoved by wings of Seraphim.
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No lights on the altar the spirit sees,
The cloistered aisles are but leafless trees,
And the music, the sigh of the evening breeze.
No matin or vesper bell for her;
The leafless branches never stir
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In the pale, pale light of the days that were.
No matin or vesper hymn or prayer
Can shut those eyes' wide-open stare
At the glimmering darkness everywhere.

The sweetest singing dies away;
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No note of birds for those who stray
In the land that is neither night nor day.

PART III

In the shadowy light of the silent land,
With the tall gaunt hedges on either hand,
On the long, dim road doth the spirit stand.
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Under the hedges the air is chill,
And the mists sleep over the forest still,
And are folded like wings on the sides of the hill.
Her arms are crossed upon her breast,
Her round limbs shape the shadowy vest,
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Her feet are worn with seeking rest.
To her cheeks no rose hath summer brought,
While on their pallor time hath wrought
The troubled lines of an after-thought.

But sweet is the gaze of those sad dark eyes,
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And sweet their look of mute surprise,
As something in the road she spies.
Spurned under foot, o'ergrown with moss,
Counted of foolish men but loss,
On the cold, hard road lies Jesus' cross.
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In the dim twilight as she stood,
She saw the marks of Jesus' Blood,
Then stooped and kissed the Holy Rood.
There are sounds of joy from the years gone by,
There's a pale red light in the forward sky,
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And a star looks down through the mist on high.
Hush! for the light falls clear from that star,
Hush! for the day-dawn kindles afar,
Hush! for the gate of the sky is ajar.

What is the voice of the boundless sea
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As it clasps the lands excitedly?
Not the voice of the dead, but of what shall be—
Of what shall be when the world shall cease,
And oceans die in the reign of peace,
When God grants pardon and release.
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O sweetest taste of Jesus' Blood!
Joy bursts upon her like a flood;
The spirit kisseth Holy Rood.
A low wind moaneth evermore,
The nuns still kneel upon the floor,
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But Jesus trod this way before.
She lifts the sacred emblem up:
This was His drink, His bitter cup;
And all His loved with Him must sup.

Beneath its arms she bows her head,
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Those arms so rudely fashionèd,
Which Jesus made His dying bed.
She bends beneath the cross's weight,
But now no longer desolate,
She stands before the convent gate.
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Sweeter and sweeter the sisters sing,
From arch and roof the echoes ring,
While God above is listening.
'Ave Maria, Virgin blest,
Help the sin-stained and distrust,
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Grant the weary-hearted rest! '
The altar-lights are shining fair,
And Jesus' cross is standing there;
The darkness brightens everywhere.

In silent bliss the spirit kneels,
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For mortal utterance half conceals
The deepest joy the bosom feels.
She bears her burden day by day;
It wakens her at morning grey,
And calms her at eve's setting ray.
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She bears it through the length of years;
The rough wood drives away her fears,
The blood-stains check all earthly tears.
Through daily round of deed and psalm,
She moves in silent strength and calm,
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The cross her solace and her balm.
She bears it round from door to door,
And lonely hearts that ached before,
Find joy and peace for evermore.

So in the present, people say,
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Of holy deed and prayer alway,
She finds to-morrow and yesterday.

THOU stand'st complete in every part,
An individual of thy kind;
But whence thou cam'st and what thou art,
Didst ever ask thee of thy mind?
Thou claim'st a portion of God's earth;
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Thou say'st to all men, "This is I;"
Thou hast a date to mark thy birth,
And other date when thou shalt die.
Thy years are in the planets' years;
A space in all that mighty span,
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A little space of smiles and tears,
Is writ in shining letters—"Man."
Thou hear'st the mighty ocean roll,
Thou seest death on every hand;
There loom strange phantoms in thy soul,
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And boundless heavens arch the land.
Thy feet are on the sand and clay,
Which once had other growths than these,
And in the great world's yesterday,
Heard murmurs of the tropic seas.
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Life out of death, death out of life,
In endless cycles rolling on,
And fire-gleams flashing from the strife
Of what will come and what has gone.
A perfect whole, a perfect plan,
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Ay, doubtless, in the perfect mind,
An onward march since time began,
With yet no laggart left behind.
All blended in a wondrous chain,
Each link the fittest for its place;
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The stronger made to bear the strain,
The weaker formed to give it grace.
But what art thou and what am I?
What place is ours in all this scheme?
What is it to be born and die?
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Are we but phases in a dream,
That earth or some prime mother dreams,
Folded away in crimson skies?
Or are we dazzled with the beams
Of light too strong for new-born eyes?
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Certes, we are not very much;
We cannot cause ourselves to be;
Not even the limbs by which we touch
Are really owned by thee and me.
But they were fashioned years ago,
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Ay, centuries; since earth's natal morn,
The wondering ages saw them grow,
Till our time came and we were born.
And we are present, future, past—
Shall live again, have lived before,
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Like billows on the beaches cast
Of tides that flow for evermore.
And yet thou sayest, "This is I;
I am marked off from all my kind;
I look not to the by-and-by;
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I care not for what lies behind."
That may be so; but to mine eyes
A being of wondrous make thou art—
The point at which infinities
Converge, touch, and for ever part.
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Thou canst not unmake what has been,
Nor hold back that which is to come;
We dwell upon the waste between
In the small "now" which is our home.
"Though this be so," thou answerest, "still
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I feel and know myself to be:
Thy creed would make the perfect will
In God's sight like a stone or tree."
Ah no! for stone and tree are one,
And perfect will bears different fruit;
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The will is grander than the sun,
The body brother to the brute.
But in the ages thou shalt be
A link from unknown to unknown,
A bridge across a darkling sea,
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A light on the world's pathway thrown
Ay, such is man—a moan in sleep;
A passing dream; he thinks and is,
And then falls back into the deep
Where other deeps call unto this.
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But in that thinking, in that pause,
That dream which did so little yield,
There met a universe of laws,
And branched out into wider field.
We live not for ourselves—ah no!
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We do not live; man lives in us.
The race dwells in us; even so
The race will live, though we pass thus.
The forces that have fashioned thee
Have rolled through space since time began—
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Have ranged the heavens, the earth, the sea,
And in God's time have made thee man.
And so to further goal they move,
When thou hast passed from mortal sight;
To fashion beings that will prove
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More wondrous still, more full of light.
We are the foam-crest on the wave,
Lit for a moment by the sun;
A moment thus we toss and rave,
Then fall back ere our day is done.
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Thou then art twain—the force that builds
The broad foundations of the race,
And separate light from God that gilds
The soul with individual grace.
God looks at both: the one displays
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The laws that work His purpose still;
The other thine own spirit sways,
And here God asks the perfect will.
I would not have thee think the less
Of this small part which is man's soul,
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Nor miss the exceeding blessedness
Of knowing thyself a separate whole.
"What proof," thou sayest, "if this be true,
That thou and I survive the shock
Which summons all we are and do
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To credit of the primal stock?
"If I and thou a moment are
Conscious of self, of touch, of sight,
Then vanish like a falling star,
And sink in everlasting night,
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"What proof that in the overthrow
The thing that says, knows, ‘This is I,'
Will not pass with the rest, and go
Dissolved into the vast supply?"
Though formed of elemental dust,
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And moulded through such countless years,
We perish not with these, but must
Survive the rolling of the spheres.
We must, I say; for what most high
In man? Is't not the subtle part,
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The power which tells me, "This is I;
I am not everything thou art"?
Would God have laboured then and wrought
With fire and water, life and death,
And through the weary cycles brought
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A creature with the vital breath,
And breathed such power within his soul,
And crowned him with such wondrous grace,
And said, "Go forth from pole to pole,
And meet thy brother face to face,"
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If this strange power were meant to sink
Back into chaos or be lost,
Or cast off as a broken link,
Or die like wave along the coast?
Not that God's way. On—ever on,
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To nobler, purer, higher things;
Form out the ages that are gone
Each newer, grander era springs.
So nought is lost, but all must pass,
And life through varied stages move;
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From the pale fungus in the grass,
To deepest depths of light and love.
And we must pass—we shall not die;
Changed and transformed, but still the same,
To grander heights of mystery,
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To fairer realms than whence we came.
God will not let His work be lost;
Too wondrous is the mind of man,
Too many ages it has cost
The huge fulfilment of His plan.
160

But on we pass, for ever on,
Through death to other deaths and life;
To brighter lights when these are gone;
To broader thought, more glorious strife;
To vistas opening out of these;
165
To wonders shining from afar,
Above the surging of the seas,
Above the course of moon and star;
To higher powers of will and deed,
All bounds and limits left behind;
170
To truths undreamt in any creed;
To deeper love, more God-like mind.
For this the sky and sea and earth
God moulded with His ice and fire;
For this the ages gave us birth,
175
And filled our hearts with mad desire.
Great God! we move into the vast;
All questions vain—the shadows come!
We hear no answer from the past;
The years before us all are dumb.
180

We trust Thy purpose and Thy will,
We see afar the shining goal;
Forgive us if there linger still
Some human fear within our soul!
Forgive us, if when crumbling in
185
The world that we have loved and known,
With forms so fair to us, we sin
By eyes averted from Thy throne!
Forgive us, if with thoughts too wild,
And eyes too dim to pierce the gloom,
190
We shudder like a frightened child
That enters at a darkened room!
Forgive us, if when dies away
All human sound upon our ears,
We hear not, in the swift decay,
195
Thy loving voice to calm our fears!
But lo! the dawn of fuller days;
Horizon-glories fringe the sky!
Our feet would climb the shining ways
To meet man's widest destiny.
200

Come, then, all sorrow's recompense!
The kindling sky is flaked with gold;
Above the shattered screen of sense,
A voice like thunder cries, "Behold!"

DEDICATION



O POOR, sad hearts that struggle on and wait,
Like shipwrecked sailors on a spar at sea,
Through deepening glooms, if haply, soon or late,
Some day-dawn glimmer of what is to be,
Not knowing Christ, nor gladdened by His Love
5
And Life indwelling—to you I dedicate
These humble musings, praying that from above,
On you, being faithful found, the light may shine
Of Life incarnate and of Love divine.
Take, then, these thoughts, in loving memory
10
Of those dead hearts that brought it first to me.


DOWN by the sea, in infinite solitude
And wrapt in darkness, save when gleams of light
Broke from the moon aslant the hurrying clouds
That fled the wind, lay Justin, worn with grief,
And heart-sick with vain searching after God.

15
He heeded not the cold white foam that crept
In silence round his feet, nor the tall sedge
That sighed like lonely forest round his head;
His heart was weary of this weight of being,
Weary of all the mystery of life,
20
Weary of all the littleness of men,
And the dark riddle that he could not solve—
Why men should be, why pain and sin and death,
And where were hid the lineaments of God.
No voice was near. Behind, a lofty cape,
25
Whose iron face was scarred by many a storm,
Loomed threatening in the dark, and cleft the main,
And laid its giant hand upon the deep.
One grizzled oak tree crowned it, and the surf
Broke ever at its base, with ceaseless voice
30
Powerless to mar its silent majesty.
Sweet was the loneliness to Justin, sweet
Perturbèd nature, as in harmony
With the dark thoughts that beat upon his soul.
Nor speechless long he lay. The tide of grief,
35
O'erflowing the narrow limits of the mind,
Broke from him, and in burning word he cried:
"O God, if God there be in this foul chase!
O Fate, if Fate it be that drives us thus!
O Chance, if it be Thou that mouldeth all!
40
Stern Power, whate'er Thy name, that sit'st sublime
Above creation, throned creation's Lord,
With feet upon the spheres, whose flaming arms
Scatter new worlds form age to age, to roll
Thro' the dim cycles of all time, to bloom
45
Into warm life—what iron law impels,
Or wanton cruelty in the eternal deep
Of mind supreme, Thee to send sin and death
To prey thus on the creatures of Thine hands,
Until the while skulls crumble back to earth
50
From whence they sprung? O Chance! O Fate! O God!
My soul is broken with the clang of worlds;
The universe is discord all to me,
I see dark planets roll o'er human graves;
I feel them quivering with the cries of souls.
55
I know no more. O Power, whose face is veiled
From man in Thine own greatness,—Thou, whom I
Thro' weary years have sought, but sought in vain,
In every shadow upon every hill,
In the sweet features of a child, or on
60
The illimitable sea, in heat, in cold,
And in the rain that clothes the earth with buds,
And in the breath of things invisible,
Till, worn and helpless, now I long for death,—
Let me before I die hear some still voice
65
(If such indeed there be), some undertone
That, flowing from eternity thro' all
The jarring voices that now rend the soul,
Shall blend them into one long harmony:
So let me hearing die, and dying rest."
70

He ceased, and, sweet as after day of storm
Flows the still sea at even—the winds and waves
Asleep in purple mists—a silence crept
Over the worlds and flooded Justin's soul;
And in the silence Justin heard a voice,
75
And the warm throbbing of a human heart.
And thro' the darkness moved the form of Christ,
White-robed, with crown of thorns and those sad eyes
That saw His Mother weep beside the cross.
Then form innumerable throats uprose
80
One glorious music, one great hymn of praise
From all creation, th' universal sounds
Of tireless nature,—thunders of the sea
On clouded crags where arctic winds at night
Tear at its foaming lips, a land of ice
85
And spectral suns; the deep-toned mountains, too,
All shadow-clad in forests, send their voice
From caverns subterranean, where the newts
And blind-worms fear no day; the lion's roar
On viewless waste; the thundering cataract,
90
And huge leviathan. Nor only these,
But from the laughing groves and vine-clad hills
And valleys come sweet sounds—the notes of birds,
The hum of insects, when the meridian sun
Drives the glad reapers to their noonday meal,
95
By leaf-arched brook; and lowings from the fold,
In cooler evening, when the maidens ply
Their daily task; the children's innocent mirth,
And angels' songs, cloud-wafted from the deep
Of heaven's blue; and, fainter still, the sounds
100
Of far-off worlds and the orbed universe.
But that which ran thro' all, and linked them all
In one long harmony—that undertone
Which made them music—was the voice of Christ
And the soft beating of His human heart.
105
A calm light stole on Justin, and a peace,
Unknown before, unutterable, deep
Within the spirit's depths—a new-born sense
As if his heart had eyes, and every eye
Saw God thro' all in His own loveliness.
110
The vision passed, and slowly Justin rose,
Unwilling quickly to disturb the peace
Which his strange dream had poured into his soul,
And the last accents of the voice that yet
Throbbed in his heart and kindled all his love.
115
There was a stillness and a hush o'er nature,
The sweet expectancy of early dawn
That waits its king; the wind had fall'n, the sea
And shore spoke but in whispers; only birds
Felt not the universal awe, but from their nests,
120
Dew-sprinkled, woke with songs the sleeping woods,
Through which, a faded beauty, peered the moon.
Then, turning, Justin suddenly beheld
A man of years, with long dark robes and hair
Whiter than sea-foam in the moonlight seen,
125
Strewn on black rocks, who, seeing Justin rise,
Moved nearer to him, saying, "O my son!
For son thou art in this new faith whereto
I call thee, seeing thou wilt be born again
By water and the washing of thy soul
130
Form its vain creeds, me hath the Father sent
(In His great mercy loving thee and all)
To be a witness to thee of thy dream,
To solve the mysteries thou couldst not solve
By thine own searching, and to lead thee now
135
To that dear Voice thou heard'st, and lay thine head
Upon the Heart that filled thy soul with peace."
So by the sea, among the frowning rocks,
They sat in converse, while the aged priest
Led Justin's spirit onward thro' the gloom
140
Of vain philosophies, as one who guides
An alpine traveller up some dizzy height,
Where opening views expand at every step
Thro' lessening mist, till Justin gazed at last
Upon a manger rude, and, sleeping, lain therein,
145
He saw the features of the Son of God.
"My Father," then cried Justin, "now my heart
Reads the bright message of my dream. I see
How vain and futile all philosophies,
But this the last which burns into my soul
150
With fire of love so wondrous; yet I see
How even they, with weak and tremulous hand,
Point toward the Christ and lead men up to Him.
I now descry His footsteps in dead years,
He guiding me unconscious, knowing Him not.
155
When first my limbs, full-grown in sinewy youth,
Felt the strong life within, my spirit glad
Moved like broad day enshrined in cloudless skies;
No care I knew, no sorrow grieved my heart,
But all was joy—a throbbing, flowing joy.
160
I wandered thro' the forests and the wilds,
On mountain height, above the birth of storms;
I heard unmoved the thunder at my feet,
And tottering crags that filled abysmal depths
With shattered pinnacles, and voices dread
165
That made earth tremble to its central fire;
I heard the lion's roar, but felt no fear:
The many-fingered forests clapped their hands,
They breathed my life, the lions were free as I,—
I felt all nature and myself were one;
170
Birds, beasts, and insects, breathing flowers and trees,
And charmèd life linked us in brotherhood.
I watched the rising sun from day to day
Surprise the world with glories ever new.
No clouds obscured; the rosy hands of dawn
175
But lifted us to realms of joyousness
And deepening light. No thought of setting day
Saddened my heart, and in the silent eve
I saw the new sun, like a golden seed,
Hid in the crimson bosom of the old,
180
Full of fresh life and hope and songs of birds,
To wake the morn. The fish and I were friends;
Their silvery shinings could no swifter pierce
The lucid depths and shallows than could I;
They were my brothers, too, for thy had life,
185
And life meant joy, and joy was brotherhood.
My comrades laughed, and called me, ‘ocean's king,'
‘Neptune, the ocean's king.' ‘Not so,' said I;
‘Call me not king, but rather friend of all!'
Thus passed the years, till one day in a wood,
190
As I lay dreaming by a moss-edged pool,
Whose twinkling eyes were laughing at the trees
That laughed in golden glories overhead,
While burnished beetles, green and amber-hued,
Skimmed o'er its waves, I heard a strange wild note,
195
Above the notes of birds, so beautiful,
It thrilled my soul, and made my pulses glow
With warmer life. The leaves were pushed aside,
And, stepping thro' the shadows, came a youth,
God-like in motion, tall and supple-limbed,
200
Drenched with the dappled sunlight, and begirt
With skin of leopard clasped about the waist
With silver. Pendant from his neck there hung
A shell, such as Apollo found at dawn,
Sea-voiced and singing to the plaintive wind,
205
Careless who heard. This, when he held and struck
With skilful hand, gave forth divinest sounds,
Softer than the low humming of the bees,
And sweeter than the trill of nightingale;
Or, stern and powerful, as his mood would change,
210
Like the loud voice that fills the midnight trees
And runs before the chariot of the storm,
Startling all nature, crying, ‘Lo! he comes,
The Storm-God comes!' or, shrill as winter winds
That wail at evening round the woodman's hut,
215
When close-drawn lattice and the blazing hearth
And meal well earned make glad the hearts within
Of children and of sire. ‘O youth!' I cried,
Gaining my speech at last, ‘fain would I know
The art that can so charm the sense,—not birds
220
Or aught on earth so beautiful. Could I
But follow thee in all thy wanderings,
But hear thee play and drink my spirit's fill
Of those wild melodies, how would not joy
Grow more intense! After such wakening life
225
Were poor indeed, the common lot of beasts
And flowers; but man I see is higher,
(Tho' till this hour content). These strains have roused
Immortal sense within of something great;
Unutterable longings chafe the soul,
230
Dreams of the gods, and voices of dead years.
The liquid strains so thrilled me with their power
That, with expanded consciousness, I saw
The birth of empires, heard the rolling spheres,
Masts snapped at sea, and, in strange concourse blent,
235
The din of cities, cries of wasted hearts,
Marshalling of steeds, ravings of fevered men;
While, over all the moaning of a sea,
And faint, a voice growing stronger, ‘Is this all?'
If Music has such power, She, and not life,
240
Must be man's good. Oh, let me follow Thee,
Her worshipper, for She can satisfy.'
Then, with a smile like sunlight on his face,
He sang this song in answer, carelessly—
‘O Soul, glad Soul, what wert thou without song?
245
Morns never smiling, wilds without a tree,
A waste of voiceless twilight wide and long,
Dark rivers dying in eternal sea,
O Soul, sad Soul, that wert thou without song.
‘O Soul, sad Soul, the rivers have to die,
250
Morn grows to eve, trees wither by the way,
Clouds hide the sun and tears fall from the sky;
But Music lives though earth should melt away.
Oh! joy, glad Soul, she will not let thee die.'
"He scarce had ceased when such a pain convulsed
255
His features as the agony that comes
At death, and with one ringing cry he shook
An adder from his foot, then wildly fled,
With face distorted, blanched with deadly fear,
Eyes glaring madly, thro' the tangled glade,
260
Like some chased stag that hears the hounds behind,
Nor recks what lies before. I followed fast,
But swift as wind he fled. A river deep
And rapid flowed hard by, whose rocky sides,
Upheaved by some convulsion, frowning stood
265
To guard its narrow channel. There a cliff
Stretched half across the stream, and at its foot
The hurrying waters curled in many a fold
Of creamy white. Him, on the rocks I found
There lying, prostrate, racked with anguish sore,
270
And cold with coming death; his foaming lips
Were bloodless, and his limbs, all stained and torn,
Writhed helplessly. I brought green moss and placed
For pillow 'neath his head; I laved his brow
And face and clotted hair; but all in vain
275
I strove, for ever a wild look would come
In his dark eyes, and shade of ghastly fear.
Colder he grew, and silent, till at length
I thought him dead, and wondered, pitying him,
And his fair form so helpless on the sand,
280
As some white statue fallen from its niche,
Broken irreparably. A sudden thought
Flashed on my mind. The shell—the shell was there,
Still round his neck. If I could strike some sounds
Of that new power that had so swayed my soul,
285
What might not chance! For music should indeed,
If god of men, be master over death,
And light up fire within the chilling breast.
I seized the shell and struck it: one low sound
Broke from it, dying among the cliffs and roar
290
Of current, soft as a child's moan in dreams.
But, ere I touched again, with a wild laugh
That made the forests ring and scared the owls
From their day-sleep, and drove them hooting out
In blinding sunlight, suddenly he sprang,
295
Clutched with mad hands the shell, and, crushing it,
Flung the white fragments in the waves below.
He saw them sink, then crying aloud, ‘'Tis vain!
'Tis vain; the shadow comes!' he fell back dead.
O death-cry in the roaring of the waves,
300
O death-cry in the stillness of the rocks,
O death-cry in the laughing of the trees!
The shadow passing by had fallen on me,
Never to rise. So thought I then. I broke
Into loud weeping thus that life should end,
305
In pain and loathsomeness, the fairest flower
Of nature dying unfruitful. Stygian dark
And horrors of the shades passed over me,
Cries of the Furies and the torrents roar
Rang in my ears, and voices out of hell
310
Re-echoed, ‘Vain! 'tis vain; the shadow comes!'
I hid the dead with moss, then turned and fled,
I cared not whither, so that I might fly
From the dark thoughts that drove me night and day,
And sights of death that haunted me. All changed
315
The glorious world! and rapine, lust, and death
Glared in each face, and blasted all but wilds
Where man was not. Then, Father, came the thought
That in that higher nature might be peace
Which music roused, but could not satisfy;
320
So sought I wisdom and the secret, dread,
Of life and death, nor knew I where to find.
I journeyed to the blazing East, and there,
In blinding simooms and a sun that scorched
League upon league of sand, I stood before
325
The stony monster that primeval hands,
Fraught with mad longings, shaped with giant tools
From mountain-side. O passionless cold lips!
O smile of scorn! O glance of burning hate!
I placed my lips against its stony mouth,
330
On fire to hear, tho' hearing were to die,
The secret of the Sphinx. I heard the birth
And death of empires, heard the rolling spheres,
Masts snapped at sea, and, in strange concourse blent,
The din of cities, cries of wasted hearts,
335
Marshalling of steeds, ravings of fevered men,
While over all the moaning of a sea,
And faint a voice, growing stronger, ‘This is all.'
And this was all; and so I journeyed home,
Heart-sick, and with dark thoughts that gnawed my soul
340
As fire eats out a tree, when thunder-clouds
Darken the woods, and lightning blasts the stems,
With fruit half-ripe. The unexpressed desire
For something further than the furthest star,
For something deeper than the lowest deep,
345
For something behind all, thro' all, in all,
Drove me to fathom all philosophy.
Thus long time sought I God, not knowing, in fire,
In cold, in light, and, mole-like, closed my eyes,
And groped thro' nature, while the truth I sought
350
Was at my door, His hand upon my latch,
And I too blind to see, for the dark shade
Of things material hung upon my sight.
Oh, Father, I was fearful lest the truth
Should grind my soul to powder if I found.
355
For what was I but man? and God, the God
Of this great universe, what should He care
For one worn heart among a myriad stars?
If I should find—what should I find, indeed,
But some great power my senses could not grasp,
360
A part of some vast whole I could not see,
And I no more to Him than breathing clay?
What link between the Maker and the made?
For men can draw no nourishment from stones
And things in nature save thro' beasts and flowers,
365
Which link the two; and so, methought, if God
Should be the God I deem Him, how can He,
The hidden Force that blindly moves the world,
Soothe the fierce hunger in the soul of man
That craves for love? What sympathy between
370
The finite and the infinite? Life itself
Grew hard to breathe beneath eternal clouds;
No sun, no goal, to cheer it. But I see
In this dear Christ the answer of my soul;
The pledge of God's great love; the link that binds
375
The Godhead and the manhood into one;
The undertone that makes one harmony
Of our existence, giving life and peace
And love for men where once a fruitless search
Thro' the blind forces of the universe
380
In weary years shut out the light of day,
And dried the fount of love within the soul."
He ceased, and answered lovingly the Sage:
"Son, I perceive that now thy soul hath found
The peace it sought, and in the rifted Side
385
A hiding-place and shelter form the blast.
Now I perceive the Spirit, as at first,
Moves on the troubled waters of thy mind,
And from dark chaos bringeth light and peace.
And now in this still hour, when every day
390
On the dim altar lies the Son of God,
That offering of which the prophet spake,*
And feeds His children with their daily bread,
Let us speak on of those high themes that lift
The soul from out the trammels of this life
395
Up to the throne of God; and so, perchance,
As on that country road at eventide,
The risen One shall come with gentle voice
And set our hearts on fire."†
Thus they conversed,
400
Unconscious of aught else in trance divine.
And, as a mist rising from vale and hill
Discloses fields, and further off the dawn
On the broad sea, until there rolls unveiled
The long full glory of the landscape, thus,
405
As Justin sat, clearer his vision grew
Of this new faith, until he saw the Christ
Come towards him thro' the mists of dying creeds
That once had shrouded Him. And thus they spake;
And Justin learned how suffering here and sin
410
Resisted were but powers to try the soul,
And forge it out more strong for this hard life,
More bright for that hereafter, and that Christ,
Informing all the soul with His great love,
Can purge the thoughts and bend the stubborn will.
415
For other creeds but touch the edge of being,
But this new life breathes life into our life;
For Christ hath trod our path before, and conquered all,
In the cold desert and upon the cross,
With bleeding hands and feet.
420
Then, kneeling down
Upon the cold, hard rocks, with lifted face
Turned to the glimmering east, he cried, "O God!
Lord of innumerable worlds which move,
Zone upon zone, thro' that thick night which hangs
425
About Thy feet for ever—Thou, whose voice
From the dead earth can frame the souls of men,
The lips that murmur praises, and the eyes
That kindle into love—O Thou, from whom
In the blind past flowed forth the light and power
430
That make creation circle round Thy throne
Thro' all the ages—Thou, to whom alone
Time's self is dead, and death is but new life
That flows unseen thro' this great universe,
Reframing all and springing in new forms
435
More worthy Thee—O Thou, in whom unite
The past, the present, and the future—Thou,
The centre of all time, the great I AM,
Heart of eternity, —in Thee I find,
O God, my God, the resting-place I sought,
440
In Thee I find the answer of my quest,
In Thee the satisfaction of my soul.
I thank Thee Thou hast led me like a child
To these sweet streams for which my soul hath longed
Thro' the dim past. And now I see anew
445
How all creation, like some pyramid,
Built on a waste of ages as the sands
Of a great desert, doth on every side,
Step upon step, lead upward to Thy throne.
Inscrutable Thy ways, O God, and yet
450
Thro' the thick clouds that hide Thy face there comes
A beam of light, the offspring of Thy love;
For in my dreams I heard a human voice,
And the warm beating of a human heart
Throbbing thro' nature; and I saw far off
455
In the dim void the suffering face of Christ.
O Christ in God! O God in Christ! O God!
Pledge of the Father's love, O Fount of light!
Thine was the voice that stilled my fearful heart,
Thine was the heart that filled my soul with peace.
460
O Christ, the centre of humanity!
O God, the heart of this great universe!
O Christ in God! Thou linkest all to Thee
By Thy torn side and bleeding hands and feet.
How can we fear, tho' long and loud the storm,
465
If thro' the darkness comes a human voice?
How can we tremble, when our head is laid
Upon that breast where beasts a human heart?
O Man in God, that bringest God to men!
O God in Man, that liftest man to God!
470
Effulgence of the essence which, divine,
Without Thee incommunicable were;
Strong Light to light all mysteries, and Thou,
The perfect rest I sought through weary years
On trackless wastes! Behold, in faith and love,
475
O God, my God, I come, I come to Thee."
He ceased, and, slowly rising from his knees,
He saw the priest afar with tearful eyes,
And arms outstretched in thankfulness, and said,
"I would be born again in this new faith,
480
My Father, by the washing of my soul
Form its dark stains, for I am but a babe,
And would learn life anew." So, silent, moved
They to the shore, absorbed in thoughts too deep
For earthly speech, and silence fell awhile
485
Upon the earth in reverence to its God,
And sky and ocean seemed to wait in awe.
There, by the long white ripples on the shore,
The priest stooped down in that still hour, and took
A handful form the waves, the eternal sea,
490
That, like the love of God, flows over all,
Or height or depth, and levels all, and thus
Baptized he Justin in the Triune Name,
And on his forehead made the holy sign;
And, as the water fell on him, the sun
495
Rose in full glory, and the sky grew bright,
And angels sang far off, for day had dawned
Upon the ocean and in Justin's soul.
Then spake the priest, "My son, in this calm sea
I read thy life, all stillness now and peace,
500
In the sweet morning 'neath the new-born day.
But see, the wind now breaks it into waves,
Which, rising form their sleep, each tipped with light,
Make that long golden pathway to the sun.
So shall it be with thee. Thy soul now yearns
505
To rest for ever at the feet of Christ;
But suffering, pain, and toil shall sweep across
Its stillness, and the strife of noisy tongues,
And persecution, cold, and nakedness
Shall break its surface; but each pain shall be
510
Bright with the love of Christ, and all thy life
Shall be a path to lead men up to Him."
So the priest parted, blessing him, and Justin
Rose from his knees and moved among all men,
And reasoned with them of the love of God
515
And his dear Christ, and led men up to Him
From false philosophies, until at last
His life set in the crimson of his blood,
And rose in splendour near the throne of God.