Poems

Behold when skies are torn by trebled thunder, And daytime, foul with fury, seemeth night, Across the path of clashing hail there cometh The long-enduring sun's benignant light, And archeth over earth a beauteous halo, Which lusting hands all restlessly beseech— A silent, sevenfold wonder, out of chaos, The radiant rainbow bends, God's law to teach. Yea, clouds drop sweet distilment in their anger, And craving earth doth find her latter rain; Though needles of the frost seem, plied with blighting, They clothe with autumn splendor wood and plain; And nothing fails nor fades apart from being, Life's law of recompense hath countless signs,— The shriek of desert wind at length becometh The soft, balm-breathing discourse of the pines.

Before my heavy lids were raised, And almost mingled with my dreams. These words came clear: "A mortal seems A monster" Miscellaneous Writings, p.

What work is thine? No one of us, in his own single might, Is sent to set a wandering world aright, By call divine. Thy work lies near; Yea, next thy hand, with pregnant promise stored; Nearest of all things,—yet too oft ignored, Because so near.

A tiny thing came drifting through the air, And sought my heart—to find subsistence there. It strove to enter; but the door was fast, And cold the hearth within; the winds that passed Were not more cruel than the coldness drear That held the thing at bay, nor felt it near.

These are her fruits, kindness and gentleness, And gratefully we take them at her hands; Patience she has, and pity for distress, And love that understands. Ah, ask not how such rich reward was won, How sharp the harrow in the former years, Or mellowed in what agony of sun, Or watered with what tears.

When Love looks down from starlit skies, New joys appear and hope grows strong; The heart with tenderer speech replies And mightier themes pervade our song. Indeed, how blest the chosen way When Christ is near the livelong day.

My barque is hastening onward to a bourne Of summer seas: and soon the boatswain may Pipe me the signal, at the close of day Or 'neath the opening eyelids of the morn. The storm upon my window wakens me: Upon the clamorous night my spirit peers, Where leafless boughs and lonely glimmering meers Reach forward to the fog-enfolded sea.

In dreams I saw around the world A flaming path of light, And from its edges, swift unfurled By living impulse, swept uncurled A streaming glory bright. And where the wonder of it flowed There was no death, no strife; But bounteous blessings were bestowed As, cleansed and purified, there glowed The consciousness of Life.

How happy would I be, could I attain The steadfast knowledge of the Christ That does not wince below the pain, That does not falter from its heavenly tryst— Could I attain at once from this dull earth That cries, a ruined broken thing, it gave me birth: As some one, wandering on a sin-stained street, Should meet a woman, bent and coarse from sin (Caught in the gin of chance, her faltering feet Not strong enough to save), from some retreat Forbidding, gloomy, full of fears within— And she should scream he was her rightful son: And he with tears, affrighted and abashed, Should look with fear her lineaments upon, The while dim memory with sharp whip lashed Of vague recollections from the vanished past: Struggling with words her words to disavow, And almost yielding at the very last So huge the evidence he must allow. Could I attain from this unkempt and unswept place— Where harlequins and mad men gibe and jeer, Denying God unto His very face; Though in their faces one can see the fear That in His temple God might suddenly appear— Could I attain at once, how happy I would be! If without striving overmuch I could attain The steadfast knowledge of the Christ That does not wince but stills the blow of pain, That never falters from its heavenly tryst, Would I so thirst for His dear courts? Or would I linger in unheavenly ease Till death my earthly fever full aborts, To wake from ease and find it all disease.

I Roam between the roses: everywhere Their perfume streams. O heart of bliss laid bare, Though but a counterfeit, yet are ye most fair! Sunlight symbolical of God—behold It flash dim splendor into living gold! So Truth bids buried loveliness unfold.