Questions & Answers
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.
Because no more I tread earth's darkling way, Deem me not dead, beloved, pitying me, Nor on a new-made mound white flowers lay And lavish longings on a memory. Oh, sordid is the vision, short and dim, That cannot pass the gray horizon's rim! The gates of flesh through which but now I passed Are swinging shut, yet would I, ere they close, One flaming message pluck and downward cast Upon the carrier-wind—one radiant rose That may, perchance, the sweet of comfort bear To them that walk the desert ways of care.
I watched the snowflakes as they fell, And listened to the winter's moan; Death's icy hand plucked bud and flower, And turned my stricken heart to stone. A pall of snow lay on the earth; A pall of grief closed in my life; Oh, would it never, never cease— 'Tween life and death, this bitter strife? In far Judea's rock-ribbed tomb, O'ercome at last, death vanquished lies; Earth's champion, Life, comes forth to claim From willing hearts the victor's prize.
When thy Dead Sea apples are ashes, And the light has died out in thy home, While the sea of thy sorrow updashes, Whitening thy robe with its foam, Shut out from pity or pardon. With thy hope in thy hand lying dead — Remember the tomb in the garden, And the words the angel said.
One looked, and having looked he turned away And moved again among the petty men That peopled his small world. On field or fen He caught no beauty, yet that perfect day Earth's glory was too fair for tongue to say Or pen to intimate; it was as when One prays a memory may be spared, and then Enjoins his heart to treasure it alway.