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REFERENCE LIBRARY OF HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
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THE POETS OF TRANSCENDENTALISM: An Anthology. Large crown 8vo, $2.00, met. Postage extra.
GUIDE BOOK TO THE POETIC AND DRA- MATIC WORKS OF ROBERT BROWNING. Crown 8vo, $2.00.
GEORGE ELIOT: A Critical Study of her Life, Writings, and Philosophy. With a Por- trait. 3r2mo, $2.00.
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OF TRANSCENDENTALISM
THE POETS OF
TRANSCENDENTALISM An Anthology
EDITED BY
GHEORGHE WILLIS COOKE
WITH INTRODUCTORY ESSAY AND BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES
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PREFACE
RECENTLY, in making a somewhat careful and extended study of New England transcendentalism, I was impressed anew by the poetry it produced. I found that much of it had not been republished, and was to be found only in the pages of such periodicals as “The Dial,” ‘The Radical,” and «The Journal of Speculative Philosophy.” It seemed to me that a representative collection of the poetry influenced by transcendentalism would serve to indicate how largely that movement had affected American literature, and also to make accessible those poems that had been neglected. In making this selection of verse it has not been my aim to choose only what is best, but rather to give specimens of the poetical output of that movement. ‘The selections taken from Emer- son, Lowell, and others have been drawn from the pages of the periodicals in which transcendental- ism found expression, in order that they may be indicative of the influence coming to these poets from that source. Some of the poems chosen, for
Vv
PREFACE
that reason, are not to be found in the collected works of these poets. These early, uncollected, or discarded poems are expressive of one or another phase of what transcendentalism was to the youth who accepted it in the flush of its dawn. I have made the collection an inclusive one, without attempting to select from every poet or writer of verses who came into contact with transcen- dentalism. If the collection has a large number of religious poems it is because this movement was deeply religious in its nature and in its in- fluence.
I have to acknowledge the friendly and generous permission to use their poems given me by Samuel G. Ward, Sydney H. Morse, Thomas W. Higgin- _ son, George S. Burleigh, Julia W. Howe, Ednah D. Cheney, John Burroughs, Franklin B. Sanborn, Joel Benton, Augusta C. Bristol, Anna C. Brack- ett, Francis E. Abbot, John W. Chadwick, William C. Gannett, and Frederick L. Hosmer. I am also indebted to Professor Charles E. Norton for per- mission to use Lowell’s poems, and to Mr. Edward W. Emerson for the use of those of his father. Little, Brown & Company and Lee & Shepard have granted me the use of poems published by them. To McClure, Phillips & Company I am
vi
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__PREFACE
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CONTENTS
RON
RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
ae Each anp Arn... .. .
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‘Tue Prosiem
Tue Erernat Pan... ae JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
Zan! Tue Franxyess or NATURE ‘Tue Posr’s OBEpIENce .
To InENE ON HER Birtupay . --Wispom oF THE Errernat OnE .
_ LovE REFLECTED IN NATURE . OS a ‘BrsuionaTREs. ... . ans Divine TEACHERS
Tro NoBLENEsS
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Tur Serr’s RATIONS . MMUMAMMING cf gle 0) e+ 0l 0) o) 0 ' 6
ix
CONTENTS
HENRY DAVID THOREAU.
Sranzas, ‘‘ NATURE DOTH HAVE HER DAWN EACH DAY”
INSPIRATION
My PRAYER. Gui Mecunetar ete
Rumors FROM AN ALOLIAN HARP .
CONSCIENCE . ee
THE InwAarp MorRNING . arabs
Linzs, ‘“ ALL THINGS ARE CURRENT FOUND”
My Lirs
MARGARET FULLER. LIFE A 'FEMPLE . ENCOURAGEMENT . Sus Rosa, Crux DrvAp SONG “22's. 2 os eet
CHRISTOPHER PEARSE CRANCH. Gnosis CoRRESPONDENCES THE OcEAN Sere he I 1THEE, AND THou IN ME . Human HELPERS So Far, so NEAR.
WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING. THOUGHTS . «5 s+ 0 4) 0 eo sel Suen CoNTENT . :
A Port’s Hore. . UA 84s Ws ei To THE PoETs Hymn OF THE EARTH . NATURE . J tindt ot Cee Th Conan PRIMAVERA, THE BREATH OF SPRING ConFEssio AMANTIS x
101 102
105 106 107 108 109
s =
CONTENTS
JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE. Umea SRR Se a ee heed e 111
FREDERIC HENRY HEDGE. TERR rate, ts. oi ee SN ee Ts ¢ 114
JOHN SULLIVAN DWIGHT.
Eg ga Es eR ge A Pc Ly Rearing IIS DAY ree me es ee 118 Oia ce er ee ee ee at oe es «= 119 ELIZA THAYER CLAPP. “THE FUTURE IS BETTER THAN THE Past” .. . 120 faymm TO THE Gop or Stars... ...".. . 122 CHARLES TIMOTHY BROOKS. ETERS VOTORG) «ou 5 se ew (se te ew e196 SI OM OTH LINE. «0 6 1 ek 8 127 ELLEN HOOPER. I CREE Beg) ee sk te ee ee 128 I TET OAT Cele es ek ee tl «128 eeeeeey G 0th «s,s te ee tl ee «128 IEEE RP atte Peo e. 4t ss se ee ee 129 IIORISOUM Grete, sys 6 se elt wl. LOL RE a ee tg ens ee we ec AGO CPC ec fe fiefs ba ee ok eo AOD BEEING -SWEEP 4° 5 we ww wt ww. 104 Hymn or A SPIRIT SHROUDED ........ 135 UTES gs) k's) ese von es ee, 0) 190 IRE re ss es ie 0! 8) wg te LOO REESE gt loys eee ot yeh! «enc LOD EIEN Pe a chee oh ee 8 ene , LOD CAROLINE TAPPAN. ER AISTIDG ee sly oko elke Wecee ce alte. 141 MET Ce gla thi ciik car vids tach Woo cite te ehh 141
xi
CONTENTS
Livgs, “ You Go TO THE woops” ...... £142
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GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS.
Spring SONG . +. «se 1: s) «cn 6 yt eas EBB AND FLOW... «6 +) 0) ss‘ ss) ee JONES VERY. Tue. BaRBERRY-BusH . .. {ios (ow ek "Troe PRAYER,..< 2.020 8 cas Sea) See THe PRESENOE «© is. s+ “s ces) %ss & ee Tam SON abs oe ee ee cm) bles ea ea The Spram LAND . « «(vs 4s «5 00) 05 ee oe Tue VIOLET.) oye] 0b ale os ae ee THe Ipuem’.6. ed Oe a. ee ee Tae LIGHT FROM:WITHIN . |. « « » «sly enO HEALTH OF BuDY DEPENDENT ON THE SOuL. . . 157 Toe SILENT, 3). 61s 6 “es «ee NATURE. jo-ce es 20 8 now) wa ool ot ap 0 hen
THEODORE PARKER, Tas Higher Goop' .. . sss 6 <a os 5) ee Tae Way, THE TRUTH, THE LIFE . . . & penOE
SAMUEL GRAY WARD. Tum CONSOLERS. «is ::+) «© te “s le 4 Se ete Toe SHIEID . % 6 +. toe fe ce) um) etn
CONTENTS
ES RAT PREM EY RL PSE BB A IL MO EI EA, IEE EO)
t DAVID ATWOOD WASSON. 2 IDEALS ee : SEEN AND UNSEEN . Auu’s WELL . LovE AGArnst LOVE RoyALty SYDNEY HENRY MORSE. Two Moons. OrreNn SECRET. SUNDERED Lae, Trt Love BE WHOLE . THe Way WaAIrFs SERVICE Tue VICTORY.
JOHN WEISS. Buest Sprrir oF My Lire . SAapi’s THINKING . My Two QuEstTs. METHOD .
THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON.
Tue Turncs I miss. Hers oF TIME.
A JAR or RosE-LEAVEs . OpE To A BurrTERFLY
GEORGE SHEPARD BURLEIGH. DarRE AND Know THe IDEAL WINS IMMANUEL Our BirtTHRIGHT xiii
165 166 169 172 178
175
“176
176 178 179 180 180 182
183 184 186 190
192 193 194 196
199 199 200 202
CONTENTS
WILLIAM HENRY FURNESS. THE Sout EVENING
SAMUEL JOHNSON. For Divine STRENGTH INSPIRATION
SAMUEL LONGFELLOW. Looxine unto Gop . THe CHurcH UNIVERSAL .
- ELIZA SCUDDER.
Tue LOvE oF Gop .
Wom por THER. . . . + «'.*s 5 TRUTH.
No More SEA
THANKSGIVING .
VresPER Hymn
THE QUEST .
HELEN HUNT JACKSON. Love’s FULFILLING “Nor as I wit” SPINNING oe ie) neues? ieee Hymn: “I cANNOT THINK BUT GOD MUST KNOW ” Toe Love or Gop .
EDWARD ROWLAND SILL. LIFE . Tre FoururREe A PRAYER. WIEGENLIED FORCE TRANQUILLITY . PEACE xiv
205 206
208 209
211 212
214 215 216 217 218 220 222
224 225 2277 229 230
231 231 233 234 235 237 238
CONTENTS
JULIA WARD HOWE.
SranzAs: ‘‘Or THE HEAVEN IS GENERATION”. . 240 CMR OPC 4 > ae wae effet ee 240 ‘i Tue Prick or THE Divina Commepia. . . . . 241
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| IESE R ie. em a ew we. » 248 “T SHALL BE SATISFIED WHEN I AWAKE WITH Tuy SS oe NR nee is ie dane earch eee 249
JOHN BURROUGHS. Re Po a ee ew B61 GotpEN Crown SPARROW OF ALASKA. .... 252
FRANKLIN BENJAMIN SANBORN.
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DENEMIEMOORWIGG . « +. « « ss 6 6 e #200
OIE eS es ek ww ww wt OF
AUGUSTA COOPER BRISTOL.
A Summer Morninec Hour with Nature. .. . 266 Me che a ei dat wh ge acess + ef e269 THE Oxtp Sone AND THE New ........ 270 IEEE TR UR ce ener gc- als) one oe 2) QI
XV
CONTENTS
ANNA CALLENDER BRACKETT.
BEETHOVEN |. |...) «ss W605 6 Rn Four Warre Liams 6. .. \<) 6 eee DENIAL «0 0) wie Ble we) hy eee COMPREHENSION «| «0+ < 0). «est 5
FRANCIS ELLINGWOOD ABBOT.
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JOHN WHITE CHADWICK.
NIRVANA .-*. se a a A Sone or Trust. . . 2 ss) 6 eee Avutp Lane Synm’ >... es
WILLIAM CHANNING GANNETT. “WHO WERT AND ART AND EVERMORE SHALT BE”. 297
Tur. HIGHWAY —. 9°. . 9. sive 298 Tur Worp or Gop . 6-\. s+. se Listrnine FoR Gop *. <. . «sso Neu eee
FREDERICK LUCIAN HOSMER.
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INDEX OF TITLES 2°. 5 5 5 55 ocr
Xvi
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INTRODUCTION > TRANSCENDENTALISM AND AMERICAN POETRY
THE transcendental movement yet remains the most important influence that has affected Ameri- can literature. Whatever were its defects — and they were many — it was a creative power, and it gave us our greatest poetry. It is unjust to regard it as an importation from Europe, that might have been excluded by laws against aliens. If the influence of Carlyle, Coleridge, Goethe, and Cousin was considerable, the seed they sowed fell upon good ground here, and speedily germinated. The soil was already prepared for it, and it sprang up as if it were indigenous. Indeed, it is more just to our poets to claim that transcendentalism was native to America than to assert of it that it came from abroad. Its qualities had been in the American mind for generations, perhaps from the first coming of the Puritans. It tempered the teachings of Jonathan Edwards, and it was even
in the sermons of Peter Bulkeley, Emerson’s ear- 3
INTRODUCTION
liest American forbear. The “ New Divinity ” of the eighteenth century was touched by it, and Channing was deeply informed by its life and spirit.
It is not true to what is known as “the tran- scendental movement,” however, to say that it was a thing by itself or a manifestation of a partic- ular type of thought. It was democracy in contact with Puritanism, to define it historically. The free spirit awakened by the establishment of national independence on a basis of liberty and the rights of man, coming into contact with the deep reli- giousness of Puritanism, and its profound faith in God, gave origin to this movement. It was helped to its formation, but not created, by’ European phi- losophy. English and German thinking precipi- tated the older elements, and gave us the new com- pound, it may be; but this result was certain to come to pass, even without the foreign aid.
Transcendentalism was a movement of inquiry, revolt against conventionality, and assertion of the worth and dignity of man. It declared that religion is natural to man, that he may trust his own instincts, that individual freedom is essential to a large and wise living, and that spiritual insight
is a direct revelation from God. The movement 4
INTRODUCTION
thus developed had a large influence upon Ameri- can poetry. It may be justly said to have been the formative power that produced our best liter- ature. It is impossible to separate it from the names of Emerson, Lowell, Thoreau, Whittier, Whitman, and a large company of our lesser poets and prose writers. ‘That phase of it shown in the teaching of Wordsworth deeply touched the poetry of Bryant, and Longfellow was by no means out- side its movement and its spirit.
This movement influenced not only poetry, but all forms of writing and thinking. It was not less creative in the results it produced upon religion than upon literature. It showed itself in a splen- did outburst of oratory, that carried its temper and its convictions widely throughout the country. It manifested its idealism in numberless movements for social amelioration and practical reforms. It was often fanatical, sometimes crude and preten- tious ; and it was even arrogant and domineering. With all its limitations, however, it was full of life and inspiration, — noble in motive, wise in con- ception, and heroic in its loyalty to human wel- fare. Its tendencies and purposes, especially as seen in the poetry it produced, may claim from us a just recognition.
5
INTRODUCTION
The transcendentalist maintained that the one re- ality is spirit. Spirit is a unity, but it is also uni- versal. In the deepest sense spirit is one, though it may have many manifestations. God is the heart of all creation, said Emerson; and the heart of every creature. The one spirit shines in every human soul, which is nothing apart from that through which it lives. For the individual soul the universe has existence only through the Uni- versal Spirit, which is the essence of the being of both the individual and the universal.
The transcendentalists often appear to deny the personality of man, to make him only a manifes- tation of God. In reality, they laid the greatest emphasis upon personality, and made of each indi- vidual man a distinct and unique expression of the Infinite Spirit. The Over Soul is one in all men, and yet its manifestation in each is positive and radical. That which makes man to be man, to have a character and personality of his own, to be different from all other creatures and men, is his immediate connection with the Universal Spirit, which manifests itself in him in a unique manner. The Spirit blossoms out in a new form in each in- dividual man, indeed, as a fresh and distinct crea-
tion. The connection of the individual soul with 6
INTRODUCTION
the Over Soul is continuous. When the individ- ual so wishes, when he keeps his mind clear and his heart pure, and when his soul is freely open to the life of the Spirit, inspiration will come to him according to his need. He may shut out this light because he refuses to accept it, or because he does not make himself fit for the inflowing of this higher life ; but when his soul is open and his life pure he can always have the indwelling of the Spirit.
Individuality was the one essential word and thought of the transcendentalists, and it was what the word connotes in which they believed most strongly. Emerson insisted in his “ Fate” that each man must be himself, live his own life, and think his own thought. He would not have the indi- vidual dependent upon the activities and interests of other men, as he declares in “ Suum Cuique ; ” but he would have them ever self-centred and inde- pendent. Hence it was that he preached self-reli- ance with an insistence that sometimes makes it seem the only teaching he had to offer. He car- ried this doctrine to such positive statement as to appear to isolate the individual, and to give him no genuine relations with other men. The atomic social theory was stated in plainest terms by
7
INTRODUCTION
Christopher P. Cranch in his “Gnosis,” when he declares : —
We are spirits clad in veils;
Man by man was never seen; All our deep communing fails
To remove the shadowy screen.
Heart to heart was never known; Mind with mind did never meet; We are columns left alone Of a temple once complete.
Like the stars that gem the sky, Far apart though seeming near, In our light we scattered lie; All is thus but starlight here.
This conception of the individual as an isolated atom with reference to other individuals, with which it can have no intimate connection, showed itself in a frequent insistence upon the right of a man to act independently of other men. For the sake of individual perfection, in order that the full measure of development may be reached, the indi- vidual ought to ignore social restrictions, and insist upon his own right to personal expression. This was emphatically stated by Thoreau in his “ Con-
science,” wherein he said, — 8
INTRODUCTION
I love a soul not all of wood, Predestinated to be good, But true to the backbone Unto itself alone,
And false to none.
The last clause appears to qualify the emphatic indi- vidualism of this position, and to give recognition to social obligations ; but the insistence upon the right to personal development and assertion is so strong that all else disappears in comparison. To be one’s self is made the absolute controlling interest and purpose of life.
This metaphysical atomism is almost inevitable, in view of the transcendentalist’s doctrine of con- tinuous inspiration to the soul that is fit therefor. When the source of truth is not human, the result of experience and of social growth, but of direct contact of the individual soul with the Over Soul, it follows that the individual seeks in himself truth and guidance. What other men think does not concern him. To the universal experiences of the race he is indifferent. Racial inspiration he re- gards as impossible, and for the genius of a people he has no concern. But let us not overlook the actual faith of the transcendentalist. In reality, Emerson’s “ self-reliance” is God-reliance. It is
9
INTRODUCTION
trust in the inward truth that comes to the soul from its immediate contact with the Over Soul. “The Problem” is a statement of this doctrine of direct personal inspiration, which is the source, according to Emerson, of all genius as manifested in art, literature, or religion.
The passive Master lent his hand
To the vast Soul that o’er him planned.
For the genius this is true, in the thought of the transcendentalist; and for the common man not less. Whatever of life and capacity is in either is the result of his inspiration received from the Over Soul. In himself he can do nothing. It is the Over Soul that does all things through him, using his powers for other ends than his own. The Voice is always speaking, says Lowell in * Bibli- olatres,” and whoever will listen intently enough, in the right way, will hear its word of life. Not only are the Bibles of the world its utterances, but in all times and in all men it speaks its divine word. Thoreau held that the poet cannot sing truly without this inward contact with the Over Soul. It brings him gift of song, and it gives him eternal things to sing.
I hear beyond the range of sound,
I see beyond the range of sight. 10
INTRODUCTION
Lowell was deeply influenced in his early life by this conception of the mission of the poet. He seems to have believed that there can be no true poetry written without the direct aid of the Over Soul. His biographer says of the period when he was writing his ‘“ Conversations on Some of the Old Poets,” that “he more than once hinted darkly that he was not writing the book, but was the spokesman for sages and poets who used him as their means of communication.” That he was the spokesman of the Over Soul was Lowell’s strong belief at this period, for we find him writing in a letter, “ I have always been a very Quaker in fol- lowing the Light, and writing only when the Spirit moved.” In September, 1842, he described a conversation in which this feeling of divine contact was almost overpowering. “I had a revelation last Friday evening. As I was speaking the whole system rose up before me like a vague Destiny looming from the abyss. I never before so clearly felt the spirit of God in me and around me. The whole room seemed to me full of God. The air seemed to wave to and fro with the presence of Something, I knew not what. I spoke with the calmness and clearness of a prophet.”
Even more distinctly was this conception of im- 11
INTRODUCTION
mediate revelation that of Jones Very, who main- tained that he was only the spokesman of the higher powers. He claimed that his sonnets on religious subjects contained a message “ given him” by the Spirit. In sending to Emerson the manuscript of his essays and poems, he wrote: “I am glad at last to transmit what has been told me of Shakespeare. You hear not mine own words, but the teachings of the Holy Ghost.” What he wrote, was his belief, “came” to him, and was not the product of his own mind. The Voice uttered itself through him, and he was but the medium of its expression. He said of what he had written : «¢ I value these verses, not because they are mine, but because they are not.’ This conception of immediate contact with the Over Soul was widely accepted by the transcendentalists, and it had a large influence upon their poetry and its literary content.
They also held that this inward conception of life is one of large hope to the toiler, and of pa- tience to those who cannot labor. It is the source of life, the joy of living, in every one who truly lives. In so far as he dwells in the Over Soul does he realize in himself the meaning and the worth of life. And it was this conception of man’s rela-
12
INTRODUCTION
tions to the Over Soul that made Emerson say, that all we can learn by travel is to be known at home. Europe can give us nothing of life that is unknown in Concord, simply because the deep ex- periences of life, those that enrich mind and heart, are the gift of the Spirit. They are not the result of contact with other men, the study of the social products of ages of human endeavor in the past, but of immediate touch with the informing spirit of life. It is not man who is our teacher, but the Over Soul. Weneed not have the highest truths mediated to us through art, literature, philosophy ; but the spirit informs us out of its own rich and abundant life. The Over Soul can reach us at home as readily, and even with greater certainty, than in foreign lands. What the Soul reveals cannot be added to by going up and down in the world. It is even true that the outward shows hinder us from the true things of the inward life. In quietness and humbleness of spirit we learn what cannot be revealed amidst the noises and distractions of the world. It is this conception of the worth of in- ward human experiences that made Ellery Chan- ning say, in his “ Confessio Amantis,” that he knew all that even the greatest men have gained from life. 13
INTRODUCTION
Dion or Ceasar drained no more, Not Solon, nor a Plato’s lore ;
- So much had they the power to do, So much hadst thou, and equals too.
It is this conception of the relations of the poet to the Over Soul that makes him a seer and a pro- phet. This oracular mood is in much of Emerson’s writing, and it is in that of many of the other transcendentalist writers. It gives peculiarity to the works of Thoreau, Alcott, Margaret Fuller, and many others. They are speaking with the authority of a higher life than their own. This gives them an attitude of immense egotism on oc- casion. If the individuality is not too insistent, it gives force, dignity, power, to the words they employ ; and a high ethical quality. Emerson often seems to speak in tones of command, to utter eter- nal words. We tire of this quality when it is too persistent, however, for the lofty height, the de- mand for what we have not attained, repels us, and makes rebellion necessary. We joy in it at times, but we cannot always breathe the mountain air. And yet, Emerson is so much the rebel against all that is presumptuous, dogmatic, opinionated, that he takes sides himself against whatever is authori-
tative in his own words. He is a seer, but not 14
INTRODUCTION
one who commands the loyalty of other men to his own beliefs. |
Inwardness is a frequent note of the transcen- dental poet. He loves nature, but he lives in his own thoughts. The outward as outward does not appeal to him. It is the indwelling of the Univer- sal Spirit that sustains him; and he turns from the objective world, especially from social forms and religious conventionalisms, to find in himself, as the dwelling-place of the Spirit, that which is beautiful and inspiring. Lowell could not find true nobleness in the men and women around him ; but he was bade
Look inward through the depths of thine own soul,
and then he found it, even in others. Very saw on earth another light than that his eye revealed, which
Came forth as from my soul within
And from a higher sky ;
and it is this inward light to which he goes for guidance. It shone from God within.
Another poet said it is not in nature we are to find
God, but the inner eye reveals him to us. 15
INTRODUCTION
Nature all concealing, Dim her outer light,
Finite forms revealing, Not the infinite.
The Over Soul is revealed in the outward world, but rather as a foil than as an expression of its highest life. When man would know the largest measure of being, he must turn away from nature, and seek it in his own soul. When he turns in- ward, and puts away selfishness and all regard for material things, humbly submits himself to the guidance of the Spirit, he will then find the di- vine life he seeks. Many of our poets agree with Wordsworth in the conviction that the world is too much with us, and they turned away from it to find in the soul the light that never was on sea or land. Nature is of value to man because it reflects himself to himself, and enables him to look at his own life as it is mirrored back to him from the physical world. It is capable of interpreting man to himself because it is an expression of the Over Soul in another kind. It has the same life that is in man, but without his individuality and liberty. Its permanence, its want of emotion, its passive acceptance of the Spirit that in it finds manifesta-
16
INTRODUCTION
| tion, shows man the: need he has for integrity of soul and imperturbability of spirit.
All around himself he lies,
said Alcott of man, for nature is the reflection of man, and man the measure of nature.
Nature ’s the eyeball of the Mind,
said Alcott again. It is this unity of man and na- ture, the marvelous way in which they reflect and in- terpret each other, that gives origin to the doctrine of correspondences, which was accepted in greater or less degree by all the transcendental poets. This theory was fully stated by Cranch in his declaration:
All things in Nature are beautiful types to the Soul that will read them ; Nothing exists upon earth but for unspeakable ends. Every object that speaks to the senses was meant for the spirit ; Nature is but a scroll, God’s handwriting thereon. According to this theory there is between the ma- terial and the spiritual worlds an intimate relation ; and the spiritual is interpreted to man by means of the material, which is its image or eidolon. It is as such an expression of the Over Soul that nature is of chief interest to our poets. They may love it
17
INTRODUCTION
for its beauty, but it is of greater worth to them as a manifestation of the spirit that shines through it. Nature is a perfect image of God in its own kind, without freedom of will or ethical liberty. Reason is absent from it, and it is also without the defect of vice, crime, and sin. It is not God, but God is re- flected in it as in amirror. We catch glimpses of his image therein, and they charm and console us. There in some measure is his law written, and there we come into intimate sympathy with him and his abundant life.
The transcendentalist’s conception of the rela- tions of mind and body, and his belief not only that mind is fundamental but that it is the only reality, led him to a degree of asceticism. He looked upon the body as the servant of the mind, and therefore he would keep it in strictest subjec- tion. This subordination of the, physical part of man led to a strict regimen, to the practice of tem- perance, and even to abstemiousness. The mind ought to dominate the body, and if it is true to it- self the body will know no ill. It is sin of mind that makes disease of body, according to the tran- scendentalist. When the mind dwells in the body with poise and integrity, the body will be sound
and whole. This doctrine is well stated by Very: 18
INTRODUCTION
Not from the earth, or skies, Or seasons as they roll,
Come health and vigor to the frame, But from the living soul.
Is this alive to God, And not the slave to sin ? Then will the body, too, receive Health from the soul within.
For He who formed our frame Made man a perfect whole,
And made the body’s health depend Upon the living soul.
According to Emerson the soul is the man, and it uses the functions of the body for its purposes. It is “the background of our being,” the light that shines through the bodily form. When the mind is sound the body is whole, and all defect of body is first of all defect of mind. The remedy for ills of the physical nature is the setting the mind in order and the living in harmony with its laws.
The transcendentalist is always an optimist. Because he believes in the Over Soul he is confi- dent that evil is but temporary, and that it will pass away as the spirit is more perfectly revealed in the evolution of man. While he sometimes ac-
cepts the “lapse ”’ philosophy, as did Alcott, and 19
INTRODUCTION
maintains that man has through self-will fallen from a more perfect state, he always believes in the gradual recovery of the higher nature, or the development of man until he shall fully attain to the things of the spirit and live a noble life. He believes that the future is better than the past, that Paradise is before and not behind. ‘This be- lief is definitely stated by Miss Clapp : —
Eden with its angels bold,
Love and flowers and coolest sea, Is not ancient story told,
But a glowing prophecy.
It was this confidence in the development of man. that made one of these poets sing of a present heaven, and another of the workers as coming surely to their own, the best the world contains. Heaven is of the present as well as of the future, and begins here to show its quality and its worth. The transcendentalist was confident of immortal- ity. He not only had faith that man will live hereafter, but he was also possessed of knowledge, as he thought. “I know I am immortal,” was his confident assertion. His desire became, as it were, an intuition, and that he held was enough to assure
him of the future. 20
INTRODUCTION
Iam immortal! I know it! I feel it! was the strong declaration of Margaret Fuller.
Chance cannot touch me! Time cannot hush me ! Fear, Hope, and Longing, at strife,
Sink as I rise, on, on, upward forever,
Gathering strength, gaining breath, — naught can sever Me from the spirit of Life !
It was confident faith in Spirit that gave such as- surance of futurity. It made Ellery Channing sing in that noble line — one of the finest in the language —
If my bark sink, ’t is to another sea,
with a profound conviction based on the deepest faith. But Emerson struck another note on this subject, one less assertive, even if as trustful. As was characteristic of the man, he was reticent of dogmatic claims, and trusted the future without presumptive assertion. He once declared: “ We may hope for a future life, that will enable us to see things once, and then to pass on to something new.’ Such a statement, if less confident, is more rational.
A strong ethical tendency manifests itself in many of the transcendental poets, as in Sill’s
“ Life,” Hooper’s “True Nobleness,” and Howe’s 21
INTRODUCTION
“Warning.” Their optimism did not relax the moral purpose, but made it even more vigorous and insistent. There was something heroic in their teaching, and they braced the soul for duty, and the mind to accept the whole of the truth. Emer- son is one of the most ethical of teachers, and al- ways preaches a gospel of courage, strenuous fidel- ity, and insistent loyalty. . He ethically invigorates all who come into real contact with him, and helps them to face life without flinching and with joyous confidence.
This courage grows out of a profound trust in the Over Soul. The heart of the world is sound, and its will can be accepted without fear. Our poets therefore joyfully accept the ways of the Over Soul. They wait its manifestations with hope, and do not seek to make their own purposes overtop it. The universe is inherently good, and there is no call to despair for those who see it as it is. Tranquillity, peace of soul, moderation in de- sire, are virtues cultivated by those who put their trust in the ways of the Over Soul. There is no need to run up and down the world for beauty, or help, or truth, for all these the Spirit brings to those who need them.
22
INTRODUCTION
I stay my haste, I make delays,
| For what avails this eager pace ?
: I stand amid the eternal ways,
And what is mine shall know my face.
When Burroughs sings in this fashion he shows himself a true transcendentalist, for that is the at- titude and temper of this faith. It does not ques- tion the ways of the Over Soul, which is one with its own highest good. It has no creed, no dogma, | no ritual, no infallible scripture; but the soul | trusts that what is true and right and just will as- sert itself, and will make itself clearly known. Therefore, it does not combat evil, but seeks the good. It is so trustful of the Over Soul that it will not strive or complain, but hopefully accepts what the Spirit gives.
The chief defect of the poetry of the transcen- dentalists is that it is too philosophical. Its lar- gest intent is ethical or religious, and not artistic. Beauty is not its chief inspiration, but thought. It is not written to please, but to convince. It contains a gospel, and not an appeal to emotion and imagination. That this defect always presents itself it would not be just to say, and yet it is too often present. These poets are more concerned as
to what they say than as to how they say it. They 23
—_—~ =
INTRODUCTION
are not singers, but teachers. The problems of life much concern them, and how to reform the world is to them of great importance. The charm of their poetry is in the beauty of the thought, and not in the delight of the song they smg. The form is often rugged, the verse is halting and de- fective. Their metres stumble, and their rhymes are not correct. They are too metaphysical, sub- tle, and complicated in their thought to sing them- selves clearly and strongly out into beautiful words. Their thought is involved, and often obscure. They are so charmed with what they have to say, and it is of such a complex and subjective nature, — that they cannot find simple and direct speech for its utterance. Hence the halting nature of their verse, its crippled metres, and its defective rhymes. Too often in their verse they are not poets, but philosophers.
These poets do not sing for the joy of the sing- _ ing ; and yet it was their idealism, the fact that they were enamored of beautiful thoughts, that made them use the verse form instead of prose. Poetry was to all of them the occasional rather than the chief medium of expression. With the exception of Lowell, they were not poets by profession, and even with him prose was used oftener than verse.
24
INTRODUCTION
Although Emerson early declared that his calling was that of a poet, yet he gave to the lecture and the essay the preference. With Thoreau, Mar- garet Fuller, Higginson, and Wasson, as well as others, poetry was occasional or incidental. Toa larger number poetry was an accident, and they wrote one or two or a half dozen poems only. There was something in transcendentalism that made them poets in youth or at rare moments; but they were grave theologians or philosophers for the rest of their lives. They were so stirred by the joy of life or the beauties of nature that prose ceased to be a fit medium for their thoughts. When verse thus became necessary to them they used it with a considerable degree of success, and these rare utterances are far above the level of oc- casional verse, whatever their defects.
If poetry is an interpretation of life, the tran- scendental poets deserve a large recognition. If their metaphysics repels us, and their subjectiveness is too subtle and insistent, they saw life largely and sanely. We can forgive their defective rhymes in view of their noble optimism and their heroic ethical temper. With them the man is more than the verse, and the manhood shines through the
stumbling metres. If there is too much philosophy 25
INTRODUCTION
in their poetry, the teaching is sound and it is sin- cere. It was indeed a gospel they gave to those who need it. |
Transcendentalism no longer holds the place it once occupied. It is not now the inspirer of poets or the chief influence in our literature. While idealism is more firmly established and more widely accepted than ever, transcendentalism has lost its intellectual supremacy. Its defects are not far to seek, and its excesses have discredited much that it taught. That mind isall, and that the Over Soul speaks only to the individual mind, are asser- tions that are widely criticised at the present time. The “ intuitions” of the transcendentalist find a saner interpretation in the subtle laws of heredity than in the explanation he gave them. Individu- alism gives way to a recognition of social forces. The atomic theory of the soul does not justify it- self in view of our present knowledge of social - interaction. But not all the transcendentalists were contented with the theory that the individual is an isolated expression of the Over Soul. The larger view was justly stated by George Ripley and William Henry Channing, who vigorously protested against Emerson’s individualism and what
it implied. Self-reliance has its worth, but no man 26
INTRODUCTION
ean isolate himself from his kind, even in the name of the Over Soul. A “rather mountainous Me,” as was said of Margaret Fuller’s self-assertion, shows itself in too many who accept the doctrine of self-reliance. They ignore the heredity that has determined their capacities, the social forces that have created their opportunities, and the spiritual ideals of the race that have given them their mo- tives and their vision.
We may give to transcendentalism a generous recognition for what it was to the men and women who accepted it; but we must see in it a passing phase of American thought. It may be that there are a larger number of persons who accept this faith to-day than in the prime of the movement as it affected American literature; but it is now an echo. To no great men is it inspiration, and it develops no creative literary movement. The charm of it has passed away as a vital force. It is a beautiful memory that is precious and glorious, and that still charms and delights us.
That it will revive again we may be convinced. It represents one of the persistent types of human thought. ‘To some minds it is always true, be- cause there are always individuals who see the
world in this manner. It rarely happens, however, 27
INTRODUCTION
that this form of thought is widely enough accepted to constitute a “ movement” or to create a litera- ture. When this occurs the legacy is precious, and we may well cherish it with care and with joy. We can delight in what it is and in what it accomplishes without accepting its philosophy. No one of to-day can put himself back into the full spirit of that movement and realize the complete measure of it ; but to appreciate it, to give it large recognition and just credit for what it was, that is not essential. Every age has its own type and quality, and reproduces none that has gone before it; but it ought to be able to see largely and sympathetically what other men and other ages have accomplished. If their time is not our time, and their thought not our thought, we have a large duty that requires us to give them wise recognition and to credit them with the great debt we owe them. Thus it is we may applaud © the transcendentalists, praise unstintedly their work, take large delight in what they accom- plished for American literature, without accepting their ethical theories or their religious philosophy. They were deeply religious men, but we need a more scientific word than was theirs. ‘That they
were seers, we admit ; but we cannot sit with them 28
ee” 4 i‘ Pi al ie Y 4 be
‘ J ‘Tape eee iy pene
_ irigitea! Jat es Py Py | *. ° ~
oat
INTRODUCTION
the prophet’s garb. And yet, we praise them,
we are glad in their work. What they wrought
of beauty, art, philosophy, religion, is ours; and
*. e have no wish to turn aside from the inheritance.
4 We take it as a goodly part of what the past has placed in store for us.
4
P
Brod
‘
em any ae
is ¥
| y ~~ ye fh:
E POETS OF TRANSCENDENTALISM
Ralph dHaldo Fmerson
EACH AND ALL
Littte thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown,
Of thee from the hill-top looking down ; The heifer that lows in the upland farm, Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm ; The sexton, tolling his bell at noon, Deems not that great Napoleon
Stops his horse and lists with delight, Whilst his files sweep round yon Alpine height ; Nor knowest thou what argument
Thy life to thy neighbor’s creed has lent.
All are needed by each one ;
Nothing is fair or good alone.
I thought the sparrow’s note from heaven, Singing at dawn on the alder bough;
I brought him home, in his nest, at even ;
He sings the song, but it cheers not now,
For I did not bring home the river and sky ; — He sang to my ear, — they sang to my eye. The delicate shells lay on the shore ;
The bubbles of the latest wave
Fresh pearls to their enamel gave, 33
RALPH WALDO EMERSON
And the bellowing of the savage sea Greeted their safe escape to me. I wiped away the weeds and foam, I fetched my sea-born treasures home ; But the poor, unsightly, noisome things Had left their beauty on the shore With the sun and the sand and the wild uproar. The lover watched his graceful maid, As mid the virgin train she strayed, Nor knew her beauty’s best attire Was woven still by the snow-white choir. At last she came to his hermitage, Like the bird from the woodlands to the cage ; — The gay enchantment was undone, A gentle wife, but fairy none. Then I said, “‘ I covet truth ; Beauty is unripe childhood’s cheat ; I leave it behind with the games of youth: ” — As I spoke, beneath my feet The ground-pine curled its pretty wreath, Running over the club-moss burrs ; I inhaled the violet’s breath ; Around me stood the oaks and firs ; Pine-cones and acorns lay on the ground ; Over me soared the eternal sky, Full of light and of deity ; 34
eps
THE RHODORA
SAR AIS RS EE ILS ES ES TP EEE OTE TIE HD, Again I saw, again I heard, The rolling river, the morning bird ; — Beauty through my senses stole; I yielded myself to the perfect whole.
THE RHODORA :
ON BEING ASKED, WHENCE IS THE FLOWER?
In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes,
I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook,
To please the desert and the sluggish brook.
The purple petals, fallen in the pool,
Made the black water with their beauty gay ; Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool,
And court the flower that cheapens his array.
Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why
This charm is wasted on the earth and sky,
Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing, Then Beauty is its own excuse for being:
Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose !
I never thought to ask, I never knew:
But in my simple ignorance, suppose
The self-same Power that brought me there brought
you. 35
RALPH WALDO EMERSON
THE PROBLEM
I LIKE a church; | like a cowl ; I love a prophet of the soul ; And on my heart monastic aisles 7 Fall like sweet strains, or pensive smiles : Yet not for all his faith can see Would I that cowled churchman be.
Why should the vest on him allure, Which I could not on me endure?
Not from a vain or shallow thought His awful Jove young Phidias brought ; Never from lips of cunning fell
The thrilling Delphic oracle ;
Out from the heart of nature rolled The burdens of the Bible old ;
The litanies of nations came,
Like the voleano’s tongue of flame,
Up from the burning core below, — The canticles of love and woe:
The hand that rounded Peter’s dome And groined the aisles of Christian Rome
36
THE PROBLEM
q Wrought in a sad sincerity ; Himself from God he could not free ; ; He builded better than he knew ; —
The conscious stone to beauty grew.
Know’st thou what wove yon woodbird’s nest Of leaves, and feathers from her breast ? Or how the fish outbuilt her shell, Painting with morn each annual cell ? Or how the sacred pine-tree adds To her old leaves new myriads ? Such and so grew these holy piles, Whilst love and terror laid the tiles. Earth proudly wears the Parthenon As the best gem upon her zone, And Morning opes with haste her lids
_ To gaze upon the Pyramids ; O’er England’s abbeys bends the sky, As on its friends, with kindred eye ; For out of Thought’s interior sphere These wonders rose to upper air ; And Nature gladly gave them place, Adopted them into her race, And granted them an equal date With Andes and with Ararat.
37
i Fa ix we ‘ Sy I z ¥ . i
RALPH WALDO EMERSON
These temples grew as grows the grass ; Art might obey, but not surpass. The passive Master lent his hand To the vast soul that o’er him planned ; And the same power that reared the shrine Bestrode the tribes that knelt within. Ever the fiery Pentecost Girds with one flame the countless host, Trances the heart through chanting choirs, And through the priest the mind inspires. The word unto the prophet spoken Was writ on tables yet unbroken ; The word by seers or sibyls told, In groves of oak, or fanes of gold, Still floats upon the morning wind, Still whispers to the willing mind. One accent of the Holy Ghost The heedless world hath never lost. I know what say the fathers wise, — The Book itself before me lies, Old Chrysostom, best Augustine, And he who blent both in his line, The younger Golden Lips or mines, Taylor, the Shakespeare of divines. His words are music in my ear, I see his cowléd portrait dear ;
38
THE ETERNAL PAN
And yet, for all his faith could see, I would not the good bishop be.
THE ETERNAL PAN
Au. the forms are fugitive,
But the substances survive.
Ever fresh the broad creation,
A divine improvisation,
From the heart of God proceeds,
A single will, a million deeds.
Once slept the world an egg’ of stone,
And pulse, and sound, and light was none ; And God said, “Throb!” and there was motion And the vast mass became vast ocean. Onward and on, the eternal Pan,
Who layeth the world’s incessant plan, Halteth never in one shape,
But forever doth escape,
Like wave or flame, into new forms
Of gem, and air, of plants, and worms.
I, that to-day am a pine,
Yesterday was a bundle of grass.
He is free and libertine,
Pouring of his power the wine 39
RALPH WALDO EMERSON
To every age, to every race ;
Unto every race and age
He emptieth the beverage ;
Unto each and unto all,
Maker and original.
The world is the ring of his spells,
And the play of his miracles.
As he giveth to all to drink,
Thus or thus they are and think.
With one drop sheds form and feature ; With the next a special nature ;
The third adds heat’s indulgent spark ; . The fourth gives light which eats the dark ; Into the fifth himself he flings,
And conscious Law is King of kings.
As the bee through the garden ranges, From world to world the godhead changes ; As the sheep go feeding in the waste, From form to form He maketh haste ; This vault which glows immense with light Is the inn where he lodges for a night. What recks such Traveller if the bowers Which bloom and fade like meadow flowers A. bunch of fragrant lilies be,
Or the stars of eternity ?
Alike to him the better, the worse, — 40
FATE
The glowing angel, the outcast corse. Thou metest him by centuries,
And lo! he passes like the breeze ; Thou seek’st in glade and galaxy, He hides in pure transparency ; Thou askest in fountains and in fires, He is the essence that inquires.
He is the axis of the star;
He is the sparkle of the spar ;
He is the heart of every creature ; He is the meaning of each feature ; And his mind is the sky,
Than all it holds more deep, more high.
FATE
THAT you are fair or wise is vain, Or strong, or rich, or generous ; You must have also the untaught strain That sheds beauty on the rose. There is a melody born of melody Which melts the world into a sea. Toil could never compass it, Art its height could never hit, It came never out of wit; 41
RALPH WALDO EMERSON
But a music music-born
Well may Jove and Juno scorn.
Thy beauty, if it lack the fire
Which drives me mad with sweet desire, What boots it? What the soldier’s mail, Unless he conquer and prevail ?
What all the goods thy pride which lift, If thou pine for another’s gift?
Alas! that one is born in blight, | Victim of perpetual slight :
When thou lookest on his face,
Thy heart saith, Brother! go thy ways ! None shall ask thee what thou doest,
Or care a rush for what thou knowest, Or listen when thou repliest,
Or remember where thou liest,
Or how thy supper is sodden, —
And another is born
To make the sun forgotten.
Surely he carries a talisman
Under his tongue,
Broad are his shoulders, and strong, And his eye is scornful,
Threatening and young.
I hold it of little matter,
Whether your jewel be of pure water, . 4
FATE
A rose diamond or a white,
But whether it dazzle me with light.
I care not how you are drest,
In the coarsest or in the best,
Nor whether your name is base or brave, Nor for the fashion of your behavior, But whether you charm me,
Bid my bread feed and my fire warm me, And dress up nature in your favor.
One thing is forever good, —
That one thing is Success,
Dear to the Eumenides,
And to all the heavenly brood.
Who bides at home, nor looks abroad, He carries the eagles — he masters the sword.
Hames Russell Lowell
THE FRANKNESS OF NATURE.
WHEN in a book I find a pleasant thought
Which some small flower in the woods to me
Had told, as if in straitest secrecy,
That I might speak it in sweet verses wrought,
With what best feelings is such meeting fraught !
It shows how nature’s life will never be
Shut up from speaking out full clear and free
Her wonders to the soul that will be taught.
And what though I have but this single chance
Of saying that which every gentle soul
Shall answer with a glad, uplifting glance ?
Nature is frank to him whose spirit whole
Doth love Truth more than praise, and in good time,
My flower will tell me sweeter things to rhyme.
THE POET’S OBEDIENCE
ONLY as thou herein canst not see me,
Only as thou the same low voice canst hear 44
—— ———— oe? 2S. ee
TO IRENE ON HER BIRTHDAY
Which is the morning song of every sphere
And which thou erewhile heardst beside the sea
Or in the still night flowing solemnly,
Only so love this rhyme and so revere ;
All else cast from thee, haply with a tear
For one who, rightly taught, yet would not be
A voice obedient ; some things I have seen
With a clear eye, and otherwhile the earth
With a most sad eclipse hath come between
That sunlight which is mine by right of birth
And what I know with grief I ought to have been, —
Yet is short-coming even something worth.
TO IRENE ON HER BIRTHDAY
MarbEn, when such a soul as thine is born, The morning stars their ancient music make And joyful once again their song awake, Long silent now with melancholy scorn ; And thou, not mindless of so blest a morn, By no least deed its harmony shall break, And shalt to that high clime thy footsteps take Through life’s most darksome passes unfor-
lorn ;
45
_———ae ee
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL
Therefore from thy pure faith thou shalt not fall,
Therefore shalt thou be ever fair and free
And in thine every motion musical
As summer air, majestic as the sea,
A mystery to those who creep and crawl
Through Time and part it from Eternity.
WISDOM OF THE ETERNAL ONE
THEREFORE think not the Past is wise alone,
For Yesterday knows nothing of the Best,
And thou shalt love it only as the nest
‘Whence glory-wingtd things to Heaven have flown : To the great Soul alone are all things known ; Present and future are to her as past,
While she in glorious madness doth forecast
That perfect bud, which seems a flower full-blown To each new Prophet, and yet always opes Fuller and fuller with each day and hour, Heartening the soul with odor of fresh hopes, And longings high, and gushings of wide power, Yet never is or shall be fully blown
Save in the forethought of the Eternal One.
46
WINTER
WINTER
Tue bird sings not in winter-time, Nor doth the happy murmur of the bees Swarm round us from the chill, unleavéd lime, © And shall ye hear the poet o’ sunny rhyme, Mid souls more bleak and bare than winter trees ?
As a lone singing bird that far away,
Hath follow’d north the fickle smiles of spring, Is ambush’d by a sudden bitter day, And sits forlorn upon a leafless spray,
Hiding his head beneath his numbéd wing,
So is the poet, if he chance to fall "Mong hearts by whom he is not understood, Dull hearts, whose throbbing grows not musical, Although their strings are blown upon by all The sweetest breezes of the true and good.
His spirit pineth orphan’d of that home Wherein was nursed its wondrous infancy, And whence sometimes ’neath night’s all - quiet
dome, 47
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL
Swiftly a winged memory will come, And prophesy of glory yet to be.
Then knows he that he hath not been exiled
From those wide walls his own by right of birth ; But hath been sent, a well-belovéd child, A. chosen one on whom his father smiled,
And blest, to be his messenger on EKarth.
Then doth his brow with its right glory shine, And stretching forth his strong, undaunted wings, He soareth to an atmosphere divine, Whence he can see afar that clime benign, His fatherland, whose mystic song he sings.
So in his eyes there doth such blessings grow, That all those faces erst so hard and dull, With a sweet warmth of brotherhood do glow,
As he had seen them glisten long ago, In that old home so free and beautiful.
LOVE REFLECTED IN NATURE
Our love is not a fading earthly flower ;
Its winged seed dropped down from Paradise, 48
wer osrae
THE STREET
sn a EE RD ee er And nursed by day and night, by sun and shower, Doth momently to fresher beauty rise ;
To us the leafless autumn is not bare,
Nor winter’s rattling boughs lack lusty green, Our summer hearts make summer’s fulness where No leaf or bud or blossom may be seen:
For nature’s life in lover’s deep life doth lie, Love — whose forgetfulness is beauty’s death, Whose mystic key these cells of thou and I
Into the infinite freedom openeth,
And makes the body’s dark and narrow grate
The wide-flung leaves of heaven’s palace-gate.
THE STREET
THEY pass by me like shadows, crowds on crowds, Dim ghosts of men, that hover to and fro, Hugging their bodies round them like thin shrouds Wherein their souls-were buried long ago ;
They trampled on their faith and youth and love — They cast their hope of human kind away — With Heaven’s clear messages they madly strove And conquered, — and their spirits turned to clay ; Lo! how they wander round the world, their
grave, 49
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL
Whose ever-gaping maw by such is fed, Gibbering at living men, and idly rave
“ We only truly live, but ye are dead,” — Alas, poor fools! the anointed eye may trace A dead soul’s epitaph in every face.
BIBLIOLATRES
Gop is not dumb, that he should speak no more ;
If thou hast wanderings in the wilderness
And find’st not Sinai, ’t is thy soul is poor ;
There towers the mountain of the Voice no less,
Which whoso seeks shall find, but he who bends,
Intent on manna still and mortal ends,
Sees it not, neither hears its thundered lore.
Slowly the Bible of the race is writ, And not on paper leaves nor leaves of stone ; Each age, each kindred, adds a verse to it, Texts of despair or hope, of joy or moan. While swings the sea, while mists the mountains shroud, While thunder’s surges burst on cliffs of cloud, Still at the prophets’ feet the nation sit. 50
DIVINE TEACHERS
DIVINE TEACHERS
Gop sends his teachers unto every age, To every clime and every race of men, With revelations fitted to their growth And shape of mind, nor gives the realm of Truth Into the selfish rule of one sole race: Therefore each form of worship that hath swayed The life of man, and given it to grasp
The master-key of knowledge, reverence, Infolds some germs of goodness and of right ; Else never had the eager soul, which loathes The slothful down of pampered ignorance, Found in it even a moment’s fitful rest.
There is an instinct in the human heart
Which makes that all the fables it hath coined, To justify the reign of its belief
And strengthen it by beauty’s right divine, Veil in their inner cells a mystic gift,
Which, like the hazel twig, in faithful hands, Points surely to the hidden springs of truth. For, as in nature naught is made in vain,
But all things have within their hull of use
A wisdom and a meaning which may speak 51
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL
Of spiritual secrets to the ear
Of spirit ; so, in whatsoe’er the heart
Hath fashioned for a solace to itself,
To make its inspiration suit its creed,
And from the niggard hands of falsehood wring Its needful food of truth, there ever is -
A sympathy with Nature, which reveals,
Not less than her own works, pure gleams of light And earnest parables of inward lore.
TRUE NOBLENESS
«¢ For this true nobleness I seek in vain, In woman and in man I find it not; I almost weary of my earthly lot, My life-springs are dried up with burning pain.” Thou find’st it not? I pray thee look again, Look inward through the depths of thine own soul. How is it with thee? Art thou sound and whole? Doth narrow search show thee no earthly stain ? Be noble! and the nobleness that lies In other men, sleeping, but never dead, Will rise in majesty to meet thine own ; Then wilt thou see it gleam in many eyes, Then will pure light around thy path be shed, And thou wilt nevermore be sad and lone.
52
Amos Bronson Alcott MAN
HE omnipresent is,
All round himself he lies,
Osiris spread abroad,
Upstaring in all eyes:
Nature has globed thought,
Without him she were not,
Cosmos from Chaos were not spoken,
And God bereft of visible token.
APPROACHING GOD
WuHeEn thou approachest to the One, Self from thyself thou first must free, Thy cloak duplicity cast clean aside, And in thy Being’s being be.
MATTER Out of the chaos dawns in sight
The globe’s full form in orbéd light ; 53
AMOS BRONSON ALCOTT
—_—_—_——_—_—_—_————— Beam kindles beam, kind mirrors kind, | Nature ’s the eyeball of the Mind;
The fleeting pageant tells for nought Till shaped in Mind’s creative thought.
FRIENDSHIP
Nor elsewise man shall fellow meet, In public place, in converse sweet, In holy aisles, at market gate,
In learning’s halls, or courts of state, Nor persons properly shall find,
Save in the commonwealth of Mind ; Fair forms herein their souls intrude, Peopling what else were solitude.
EXCELLENCE
WHERE is that good, which wise men please to — eall The chiefest? Doth any such befall Within man’s reach? or is there such a good at all ?
EXCELLENCE
If such there be, it neither must expire
Nor change; than which there can be nothing higher :
Such good must be the utter point of man’s desire.
It is the mark to which all hearts must tend ; Can be desired for no other end Than for itself, on which all other goods depend.
What may this excellence be? Doth it subsist A real essence clouded in the mist Of curious art, or clear to every eye that list?
Or is ’t a tart idea, to procure An edge, and keep the practice soul in ure Like that dear chymic dust, or puzzling quadrature ?
Where shall I seek this good? where shall I find
This cath’lic pleasure, whose extremes may bind
My thoughts, and fill the gulf of my insatiate mind ?
Lies it in treasure? in full heaps untold ? Doth gouty Mammon’s griping hand infold This secret saint in secret shrines of sov’reign gold ?
55
AMOS BRONSON ALCOTT
No, no, she lies not there ; wealth often sours.
In keeping ; makes us hers, in seeming ours ;
She slides from Heaven indeed, but not in Danae’s showers.
Lives she in honor? No. ‘The royal crown
Builds up a creature, and then batters down:
Kings raise thee with a smile and raze thee with a frown.
In pleasure? No. Pleasure begins in rage ; Acts the fool’s part on earth’s uncertain stage : Begins the play in youth, and epilogues in age.
These, these are bastard goods; the best of these Torment the soul with pleasing it; and please, Like waters gulp’d in fevers, with deceitful ease.
Earth’s flatt’ring dainties are but sweet distresses,
Mole-hills perform the mountains she professes,
Alas! can earth confer more good than earth pos- sesses ?
Mount, mount, my soul, and let my thoughts cashier Earth’s vain delights, and make thy full career At Heaven’s eternal joys: stop, stop, thy courser
there. 56
THE SEER’S RATIONS
| There shall thy soul possess uncareful treasure: J There shalt thou swim in never-fading pleasure, And blaze in honor far above the frowns of Cesar.
Lord, if my hope dare let her anchor fall, On thee, the chiefest good, no need to call For earth’s inferior trash; thou, thou art All in All.
THE SEER’S RATIONS
TAKES sunbeams, spring waters, Earth’s juices, meads’ creams, Bathes in floods of sweet ethers, Comes baptized from the streams ; Guest of Him, the sweet-lipp’d, The Dreamer’s quaint dreams.
Mingles morals idyllic With Samian fable,
Sage seasoned from cruets, Of Plutarch’s chaste table.
Pledges Zeus, Zoroaster, Tastes Cana’s glad cheer, Sun’s, globes, on his trencher,
The elements there. 57
AMOS BRONSON ALCOTT
Bowls of sunrise for breakfast Brimful of the East, Foaming flagons of frolic
His evening’s gay feast.
Sov’reign solids of nature, Solar seeds of the sphere, a Olympian viand ) Surprising as rare. 3
Thus baiting his genius, His wonderful word Brings poets and sibyls To sup at his board.
Feeds thus and thus fares he, Speeds thus and thus cares he, Thus faces and graces
Life’s long euthanasies,
His gifts unabated, Transfigured, translated — The idealist prudent, Saint, poet, priest, student, Philosopher, he.
58
EMERSON
DR. CHANNING
CHANNING! my Mentor whilst my thought was young,
And I the votary of fair liberty, —
How hung I then upon thy glowing tongue,
And thought of love and truth as one with thee!
Thou wast the inspirer of a nobler life,
When I with error waged unequal strife,
And from its coils thy teaching set me free.
Be ye, his followers, to his leading true,
Nor privilege covet, nor the wider sway ;
But hold right onward in his loftier way,
As best becomes, and is his rightful due.
If learning’s yours, — gifts God doth least es- teem, —
Beyond all gifts was his transcendent view ;
O realize his Pentecostal dream !
EMERSON
I
MiIsFORTUNE to have lived not knowing thee !
’'T were not high living, nor to noblest end, 59
AMOS BRONSON ALCOTT
Who, dwelling near, learned not sincerity,
Rich friendship’s ornament that still doth lend
To life its consequence and propriety.
Thy fellowship was my culture, noble friend :
By the hand thou took’st me, and didst condescend To bring me straightway into thy fair guild ;
And life-long hath it been high compliment
By that to have been known, and thy friend styled, Given to rare thought and to learning bent ; Whilst in my straits an angel on me smiled. Permit me, then, thus honored, still to be
A scholar in thy university.
II
Hierophant, and lyrist of the soul ! Clear insight thine of universal mind ; While from its crypts the nascent Powers unroll, i And represent to consciousness the Whole. 7 Each in its order seeks its natural kind, These latent or apparent, stir or sleep, Watchful o’er widening fields of airy space, Or slumbering sightless in the briny deep ; — Thou, far above their shows, servant of Grace, Tread’st the bright way from Spirit down to Sense, Interpreting all symbols to thy race, — 60
EMERSON EE SEE TAI IRE BILE LIT RE EL NE KEEL PLINY CE REL WE TE,
Commanding vistas of the fair Immense,
And glimpses upward far, where, sons of Heaven, Sit in Pantheon throned the Sacred Seven.
Til
Pleased, I recall those hours, so fair and free, When all the long forenoons we two did toss From lip to lip, in lively colloquy,
Plato, Plotinus, or famed schoolman’s gloss, Disporting in rapt thought and ecstasy.
Then by the tilting rail Millbrook we cross, And sally through the fields to Walden wave, Plunging within the cove, or swimming o’er ; Through woodpaths wending, he with gesture quick Rhymes deftly in mid-air with circling stick, Skims the smooth pebbles from the leafy shore, Or deeper ripples raises as we lave ;
Nor slumb’rous pillow touches at late night, Till converse with the stars his eyes invite.
61
Wenryp David Thoreau
STANZAS
NaTurE doth have her dawn each day, But mine are far between ; a Content, I ery, for, sooth to say, Mine brightest are, I ween. | \ . For when my sun doth deign to rise, | Though it be her noontide, 4a Her fairest field in shadow lies, Nor can my light abide.
Sometimes I bask me in her day, _ Conversing with my mate,
But if we interchange one ray, Forthwith her heats abate.
Through his discourse I climb and see As from some eastern hill,
A brighter morrow rise to me Than lieth in her skill.
As ’t were two summer days in one, Two Sundays come together, 62
INSPIRATION
CEST LL PEER IT IE TO IE IL OF TT RE IEE GT POD LOOT PSL PPS ENT ICSE ATION] Our rays united make one sun, With fairest summer weather.
INSPIRATION
Whate’er we leave to God, God does, And blesses us ;
The work we choose should be our own, God leaves alone.
If with light head erect I sing,
Though all the Muses lend their force, From my poor love of anything,
The verse is weak and shallow as its source.
But if with bended neck I grope, Listening behind me for my wit, With faith superior to hope, More anxious to keep back than forward it ;
Making my soul accomplice there Unto the flame my heart hath lit, Then will the verse for ever wear — Time cannot bend the line which God hath
writ. 63
HENRY DAVID THOREAU
Always the general show of things Floats in review before my mind,
And such true love and reverence brings, That sometimes I forget that I am blind.
But now there comes unsought, unseen, Some clear divine electuary,
And I, who had but sensual been, Grow sensible, and as God is, am wey.
I hearing get, who had but ears, And sight, who had but eyes before, I moments live, who lived but years, And truth discern, who knew but learning’s lore.
I hear beyond the range of sound, I see beyond the range of sight, New earths and skies and seas around, And in my day the sun doth pale his light.
A clear and ancient harmony Pierces my soul through all its din, As through its utmost melody, — Farther behind than they, farther within.
64
INSPIRATION
ee
More swift its bolt than lightning is, Its voice than thunder is more loud,
a
It doth expand my privacies To all, and leave me single in the crowd.
. It speaks with such authority, | With so serene and lofty tone, That idle Time runs gadding by, And leaves me with Eternity alone.
Now chiefly is my natal hour, And only now my prime of life, Of manhood’s strength it is the flower, "T is peace’s end and war’s beginning strife.
It comes in summer’s broadest noon,
By a grey wall or some chance place, Unseasoning Time, insulting June,
And vexing day with its presuming face.
Such fragrance round my couch it makes, More rich than are Arabian drugs,
That my soul scents its life and wakes The body up beneath its perfumed rugs.
Such is the Muse, the heavenly maid, The star that guides our mortal course, 65
HENRY DAVID THOREAU
‘Which shows where life’s true kernel’s laid, Its wheat’s fine flower, and its undying force.
She with one breath attunes the spheres, And also my poor human heart, With one impulse propels the years Around, and gives my throbbing pulse its start.
I will not doubt for evermore, Nor falter from a steadfast faith, For though the system be turned o’er, God takes not back the word which once he saith.
_I will not doubt the love untold Which not my worth nor want has bought, Which wooed me young, and wooes me old, And to this evening hath me brought.
My memory I’ll educate
To know the one historic truth, Remembering to the latest date
The only true and sole immortal youth.
Be but thy inspiration given, No matter through what danger sought, 66
GS ee —
MY PRAYER
1 ’ll fathom hell or climb to heaven, And yet esteem that cheap which love has brought.
Fame cannot tempt the bard Who’s famous with his God, Nor laurel him reward Who has his Maker’s nod.
MY PRAYER
GREAT God, I ask thee for no meaner pelf Than that I may not disappoint myself ; That in my action I may soar as high
As I can now discern with this clear eye.
And next in value, which thy kindness lends, That I may greatly disappoint my friends, Howe’er they think or hope that it may be, They may not dream how thou ’st distinguished me.
That my weak hand may equal my firm faith, And my life practise more than my tongue saith; That my low conduct may not show, Nor my relenting lines, 67
HENRY DAVID THOREAU
That I thy purpose did not know, Or overrated thy designs.
RUMORS FROM AN AOLIAN HARP
THERE is a vale which none hath seen, Where foot of man has never been, Such as here lives with toil and strife, An anxious and a sinful life.
There every virtue has its birth, Ere it descends upon the earth,
And thither every deed returns, Which in the generous bosom burns.
There love is warm, and youth is young, And poetry is yet unsung,
For Virtue still adventures there,
And freely breathes her native air.
And ever, if you hearken well,
You still may hear its vesper bell,
And tread of high-souled men go by, Their thoughts conversing with the sky.
68
~~... Ss ,
CONSCIENCE
CONSCIENCE
CONSCIENCE is instinct bred in the house, Feeling and Thinking propagate the sin By an unnatural breeding in and in. I say, Turn it out doors, Into the moors. I love a life whose plot is simple, And does not thicken with every pimple, A soul so sound no sickly conscience binds it, That makes the universe no worse than’t finds it. I love an earnest soul, Whose mighty joy and sorrow Are not drowned in a bowl, And brought to life to-morrow ; That lives one tragedy, And not seventy ; A conscience worth keeping, Laughing not weeping ; | A conscience wise and steady, And for ever ready ; Not changing with events, Dealing in compliments ; 69
HENRY DAVID THOREAU
A conscience exercised about
Large things, where one may doubt.
I love a soul not all of wood,
Predestinated to be good,
But true to the backbone
Unto itself alone,
And false to none ;
Born to its own affairs,
Its own joys and own cares ;
By whom the work which God begun
Is finished, and not undone ;
Taken up where he left off,
Whether to worship or to scoff ;
If not good, why then evil,
If not good god, good devil.
Goodness ! — you hypocrite, come out of that,
Live your life, do your work, then take your hat.
I have no patience towards
Such conscientious cowards.
Give me simple laboring folk,
Who love their work,
Whose virtue is a song
To cheer God along.
70
THE INWARD MORNING
THE INWARD MORNING
PACKED in my mind lie all the clothes Which outward nature wears,
And in its fashion’s hourly change It all things else repairs.
In vain I look for change abroad, And ean no difference find,
Till some new ray of peace uncalled Ilumes my inmost mind.
What is it gilds the trees and clouds, And paints the heavens so gay, But yonder fast-abiding light With its unchanging ray ?
Lo, when the sun streams through the wood, Upon a winter’s morn,
Where’er his silent beams intrude The murky night is gone.
How could the patient pine have known The morning breeze would come, 71
HENRY DAVID THOREAU
Or humble flowers anticipate The insect’s noonday hum, —
Till the new light with morning cheer From far streamed through the aisles, And nimbly told the forest trees For many stretching miles ?
I’ve heard, within my inmost soul, Such cheerful morning news,
In the horizon of my mind Have seen such orient hues,
As in the twilight of the dawn, When the first birds awake,
Are heard within some silent wood, Where they the small twigs break,
Or in the eastern skies are seen, Before the sun appears,
The harbinger of summer heats, Which from afar he bears.
72
LINES
LINES
Aux things are current found On earthly ground,
Spirits and elements
Have their descents.
Night and day, year on year, High and low, far and near, These are our own aspects, These are our own regrets.
Ye gods of the shore, Who abide evermore,
I see your far headland, Stretching on either hand ;
I hear the sweet evening sounds From your undecaying grounds ; Cheat me no more with time, Take me to your clime.
73
HENRY DAVID THOREAU
MY LIFE
My life is like a stroll upon the beach, As near the ocean’s edge as I can go;
My tardy steps its waves sometimes o’erreach, Sometimes I stay to let them overflow.
My sole employment is, and scrupulous care, To place my gains beyond the reach of tides,
Each smoother pebble, and each shell more rare, Which Ocean kindly to my hand confides.
I have but few companions on the shore: They scorn the strand who sail upon the sea ; Yet oft I think the ocean they ’ve sailed o’er Is deeper known upon the strand to me.
The middle sea contains no crimson dulse, Its deeper waves cast up no pearls to view ; Along the shore my hand is on its pulse, And I converse with many a shipwrecked crew.
74
HMargaret Fuller LIFE A TEMPLE
THE temple round Spread green the pleasant ground ; The fair colonnade Be of pure marble pillars made ; Strong to sustain the roof, Time and tempest proof ; Yet, amidst which, the lightest breeze Can play as it please ; The audience hall Be free to all Who revere The power worshipped here, Sole guide of youth, Unswerving Truth. In the inmost shrine Stands the image divine, Only seen By those whose deeds have worthy been — Priestlike clean. Those, who initiated are,
75
MARGARET FULLER
Declare, As the hours Usher in varying hopes and powers ; It changes its face, It changes its age, Now a young, beaming Grace, | Now a Nestorian Sage: But, to the pure in heart, This shape of primal art In age is fair, In youth seems wise, Beyond compare, Above surprise ; What it teaches native seems, Its new lore our ancient dreams ; Incense rises from the ground ; Music flows around ; Firm rest the feet below, clear gaze the eyes above, When Truth, to point the way through Life, assumes the wand of Love ; But, if she cast aside the robe of green, Winter’s silver sheen, White, pure as light, Makes gentle shroud as worthy weed as bridal robe has been. 76
ENCOURAGEMENT
ENCOURAGEMENT
“T will not leave you comfortless ”
O FrieEnD divine, this promise dear Falls sweetly on the weary ear! Often, in hours of sickening pain, It soothes me to thy rest again.
Might I a true disciple be, Following thy footsteps faithfully, Then should [ still the succor prove Of him who gave his life for love.
When this fond heart would vainly beat For bliss that ne’er on earth we meet, For perfect sympathy of soul,
For those such heavy laws control ;
When, roused from passion’s ecstasy, I see the dreams that filled it fly, Amid my bitter tears and sighs Those gentle words before me rise.
With aching brows and feverish brain The founts of intellect I drain, 77
MARGARET FULLER
eR BPRS HER GEE SATE I TST GSR LIED PLE LR TEED LIER SLATE DEEP POL PIELER NEDE DLE LIETTE,
And con with over-anxious thought What poets sung and heroes wrought.
Enchanted with their deeds and lays, I with like gems would deck my days; No fires creative in me burn,
And, humbled, I to Thee return ;
When blackest clouds around me rolled Of skepticism drear and cold, __
When love, and hope, and joy, and pride, Forsook a spirit deeply tried ;
My reason wavered in that hour, Prayer, too impatient, lost its power ; From thy benignity a ray
I caught, and found the perfect day.
A head revered in dust was laid ; For the first time I watched my dead ; The widow’s sobs were checked in vain,
And childhood’s tears poured down like rain.
In awe I gazed on that dear face,
In sorrow, years gone by retrace,
When, nearest duties most forgot,
I might have blessed, and did it not! 78
ENCOURAGEMENT
Ignorant, his wisdom I reproved, Heedless, passed by what most he loved, Knew not a life like his to prize,
Of ceaseless toil and sacrifice.
No tears can now that hushed heart move, No cares display a daughter’s love,
The fair occasion lost, no more
Can thoughts more just to thee restore.
What can I do? And how atone For all I’ve done, and left undone ? Tearful I search the parting words Which the beloved John records.
«¢ Not comfortless!”’ I dry my eyes, My duties clear before me rise, — Before thou think’st of taste or pride, See home affections satisfied !
Be not with generous thoughts content, But on well-doing constant bent: When self seems dear, self-seeking fair, Remember this sad hour in prayer !
Though all thou wishest fly thy touch, Much can one do who loveth much. 79
um . »« oe
MARGARET FULLER
More of thy spirit, Jesus, give, Not comfortless, though sad, to live.
And yet not sad, if I can know
To copy him who here below
Sought but to do his Father’s will, Though from such sweet composure still
My heart be far. Wilt thou not aid One whose best hopes on thee are stayed ? Breathe into me thy perfect love,
And guide me to thy rest above!
SUB ROSA, CRUX
In times of old, as we are told,
When men more child-like at the feet Of Jesus sat, than now,
A chivalry was known more bold Than ours, and yet of stricter vow,
Of worship more complete.
Knights of the Rosy Cross, they bore Its weight within the heart, but wore Without, devotion’s sign in glistening ruby bright ; 80
SUB ROSA, CRUX
The gall and vinegar they drank alone, But to the world at large would only own The wine of faith, sparkling with rosy light.
They knew the secret of the sacred oil Which, poured upon the prophet’s head, Could keep him wise and pure for aye. Apart from all that might distract or soil, With this their lamps they fed, Which burn in their sepulchral shrines unfading 7 night and day.
The pass-word now is lost To that initiation full and free ; Daily we pay the cost Of our slow schooling for divine degree. We know no means to feed an undying lamp ; Our lights go out in every wind or damp.
We wear the cross of ebony and gold, Upon a dark background a form of light, A heavenly hope upon a bosom cold, A starry promise in a frequent night ; The dying lamp must often trim again,
For we are conscious, thoughtful, striving men. 81
MARGARET FULLER
Yet be we faithful to this present trust,
Clasp to a heart resigned the fatal must ; Though deepest dark our efforts should enfold, Unwearied mine to find the vein of gold; Forget not oft to lift the hope on high;
The rosy dawn again shall fill the sky.
And by that lovely light, all truth-revealed,
The cherished forms which sad distrust concealed, Transfigured, yet the same, will round us stand, The kindred angels of a faithful band ;
Ruby and ebon cross both cast aside,
No lamp is needed, for the night has died.
Happy be those who seek that distant day,
With feet that from the appointed way Could never stray ;
Yet happy too be those who more and more,
As gleams the beacon of that only shore, Strive at the laboring oar.
Be to the best thou knowest ever true, Is all the creed ; Then, be thy talisman of rosy hue, Or fenced with thorns that wearing thou must bleed, 82
* DRYAD SONG
Or gentle pledge of Love’s prophetic view, The faithful steps it will securely lead.
Happy are all who reach that shore, And bathe in heavenly day, Happiest are those who high the banner bore, To marshal others on the way ; Or waited for them, fainting and way-worn, By burdens overborne.
DRYAD SONG
I AM immortal! I know it! I feel it! Hope floods my heart with delight ! Running on air, mad with life, dizzy, reeling, Upward I mount, — faith is sight, life is feeling, Hope is the day-star of might !
It was thy kiss, Love, that made me immortal, — «©¢ Kiss,’ Love? Our lips have not met!”
Ah, but I felt thy soul through night’s portal
Swoon on my lips at night’s sweet, silent portal, Wild and as sweet as regret.
Come, let us mount on the wings of the morning, Flying for joy of the flight, 83
i a ee EN ey oa o% i ard wv ‘
MARGARET FULLER
Wild with all longing, now soaring, now staying, Mingling like day and dawn, swinging and sway- ing, Hung like a cloud in the light: Iam immortal! I feel it! I feel it! Love bears me up, love is might !
Chance cannot touch me! Time cannot hush me! Fear, Hope, and Longing, at strife, Sink as I rise, on, on, upward forever, | Gathering strength, gaining breath, — naught can sever
Me from the Spirit of Life!
84
- ee a
Christopher Pearse Cranch GNOSIS
THOUGHT is deeper than all speech, Feeling deeper than all thought:
Souls to souls can never teach What unto themselves was taught.
We are spirits clad in veils ; Man by man was never seen ; All our deep communing fails To remove the shadowy screen.
Heart to heart was never known ; Mind with mind did never meet ; We are columns left alone Of a temple once complete.
Like the stars that gem the sky, Far apart though seeming near, In our light we scattered lie ; All is thus but starlight here.
What is social company
But a babbling summer stream? 85
CHRISTOPHER PEARSE CRANCH
What our wise philosophy But the glancing of a dream?
Only when the Sun of Love
Melts the scattered stars of thought, Only when we live above
What the dim-eyed world hath taught,
Only when our souls are fed
By the Fount which gave them birth, And by inspiration led
Which they never drew from earth,
We, like parted drops of rain, Swelling till they meet and run,
Shall be all absorbed again, Melting, flowing into one.
CORRESPONDENCES
AL things in Nature are beautiful types to the
soul that will read them; Nothing exists upon earth, but for unspeakable ends.
86
aah es ee
CORRESPONDENCES
Every object that speaks to the senses was meant - for the spirit : Nature is but a scroll, — God’s handwriting thereon. Ages ago, when man was pure, ere the flood over- whelmed him, While in the image of God every soul yet lived, Everything stood as a letter or word of a language familiar, Telling of truths which now only the angels can read. Lost to man was the key of those sacred hiero- glyphics, — Stolen away by sin, — till with Jesus restored. Now with infinite pains we here and there spell out a letter ; Now and then will the sense feebly shine through the dark. When we perceive the light which breaks through the visible symbol, What exultation is ours! we the discovery have made | Yet is the meaning the same as when Adam lived sinless in Eden, . Only long-hidden it slept and now again is re- stored. 87
CHRISTOPHER PEARSE CRANCH
Man unconsciously uses figures of speech every moment, Little dreaming the cause why to such terms he is prone, — Little dreaming that everything has its own corre- spondence Folded within it of old, as in the body the soul. Gleams of the mystery fall on us still, though much is forgotten, And through our commonest speech illumines the path of our thoughts. Thus does the lordly sun shine out a type of the Godhead ; Wisdom and Love the beams that stream on a darkened world. Thus do the sparkling waters flow, giving joy to the desert, And the great Fountain of Life opens itself to the thirst. Thus does the word of God distil like the rain and the dew-drops, Thus does the warm wind breathe like to the Spirit of God, And the green grass and the flowers are signs of
the regeneration. 88
aa ‘THE OCEAN
O thou Spirit of Truth! visit our minds once
more ! Give us to read, in letters of light, the language celestial, Written all over the earth,— written all over the sky:
Thus may we bring our hearts at length to know our Creator, Seeing in all things around types of the Infinite Mind.
THE OCEAN
“In a season of calm weather Though inland far we be, Our souls have sight of that immortal sea That brought us hither, Can in a moment travel thither, And see the children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.” WoRDSWORTH.
TELL me, brother, what are we? Spirits bathing in the sea Of Deity! Half afloat, and half on land, Wishing much to leave the strand, Standing, gazing with devotion, 89
CHRISTOPHER PEARSE CRANCH
Yet afraid to trust the ocean, — Such are we.
Wanting love and holiness,
To enjoy the wave’s caress ; Wanting faith and heavenly hope, Buoyantly to bear us up ;
Yet impatient in our dwelling, When we hear the ocean swelling, And in every wave that rolls
We behold the happy souls Peacefully, triumphantly Swimming on the smiling sea, Then we linger round the shore, Lovers of the earth no more.
Once, —’t was in our infancy, — We were drifted by this sea To the coast of human birth, To this body and this earth ; Gentle were the hands that bore Our young spirits to the shore ; Gentle lips that bade us look Outward from our cradle-nook To the spirit-bearing ocean With such wonder and devotion, 90
THE OCEAN
As, each stilly Sabbath day
We were led a little way,
Where we saw the waters swell
Far away from inland dell,
And received with grave delight Symbols of the Infinite : —
Then our home was near the sea ;
‘* Heaven was round our infancy ;” — Night and day we heard the waves Murmuring by us to their caves ; — Floated in unconscious life
With no later doubts at strife, Trustful of th’ Upholding Power, Who sustained us hour by hour.
Now we ’ve wandered from the shore,
Dwellers by the sea no more ;
Yet at times there comes a tone
Telling of the visions flown,
Soundings from the distant sea
Where we left our purity :
Distant glimpses of the surge
Lure us down to ocean’s verge ;
There we stand with vague distress
Yearning for the measureless,
By half-wakened instincts driven, 91
CHRISTOPHER PEARSE CRANCH
Half loving earth, half loving heaven, Fearing to put off and swim,
Yet impelled to turn to Him,
In whose life we live and move,
And whose very name is Love.
Grant me courage, Holy One, To become indeed thy son, And in thee, thou Parent-Sea, Live and love eternally.
I IN THEE, AND THOU IN ME
I am but clay in thy hands, but thou art the all- loving artist ; Passive I lie in thy sight, yet in my selfhood I strive So to embody the life and love thou ever impartest That in my sphere of the finite I may be truly alive.
Knowing thou needest this form, as I thy divine inspiration, Knowing thou shapest the clay with a vision and purpose divine, 92
I IN THEE
So would I answer each touch of thy hand in its loving creation, That in my conscious life thy power and beauty may shine.
Reflecting the noble intent thou hast in forming thy creatures ; Waking from sense into life of the soul, and the image of thee ; Working with thee in thy work to model human- ity’s features Into the likeness of God, myself from myself I would free.
One with all human existence, no one above or below me; Lit by thy wisdom and love, as roses are steeped in the morn ; Growing from clay to statue, from statue to flesh, till thou know me Wrought into manhood celestial, and in thine image reborn.
So in thy love will I trust, bringing me sooner or later Past the dark screen that divides these shows of
the finite from thee. 93
CHRISTOPHER PEARSE CRANCH
Thine, thine only, this warm dear life, O loving
Creator !
Thine the invisible future, born of the present,
must be.
HUMAN HELPERS
PRAISE, praise ye the prophets, the sages Who lived and who died for the ages ; The grand and magnificent dreamers ; The heroes, and mighty redeemers ;
The martyrs, reformers, and leaders ;
The voices of mystical Vedas ;
The bibles of races long shrouded
Who left us their wisdom unclouded ;
The truth that is old as their mountains, But fresh as the rills from their fountains.
And praise ye the poets whose pages Give solace and joy to the ages ; Who have seen in their marvellous trances Of thought and of rhythmical fancies, The manhood of Man in all errors ; The triumph of hope over terrors ; The great human heart ever pleading 94.
SO FAR, SO NEAR
Its kindred divine, though misleading, Fate held it aloof from the heaven That to spirits untempted was given.
The creeds of the past that have bound us, With visions of terror around us Like dungeons of stone that have crumbled, Beneath us lie shattered and humbled. The tyranny mitred and crested, Flattered and crowned and detested ; The blindness that trod upon Science ; The bigotry Ignorance cherished ; The armed and the sainted alliance Of conscience and hate — they have perished, Have melted like mists in the splendor Of life and of beauty supernal — Of love ever watchful and tender, Of law ever one and eternal.
SO FAR, SO NEAR
THOU, so far, we grope to grasp thee — Thou, so near, we cannot clasp thee — Thou, so wise, our prayers grow heedless — Thou, so loving, they are needless !
95
. CHRISTOPHER PEARSE CRANCH
In each human soul thou shinest ; Human-best is thy divinest.
In each deed of love thou warmest ; Evil into good transformest.
Soul of all, and moving centre
Of each moment’s life we enter.
Breath of breathing — light of gladness — Infinite antidote of sadness ;— All-preserving ether flowing
Through the worlds, yet past our knowing. Never past our trust and loving,
Nor from thine our life removing.
Still creating, still inspiring,
Never of thy creatures tiring.
Artist of thy solar spaces,
And thy humble human faces ;
Mighty glooms and splendors voicing ; In thy plastic work rejoicing ;
Through benignant law connecting
Best with best — and all perfecting, Though all human races claim thee, Thought and language fail to name thee, Mortal lips be dumb before thee, Silence only can adore thee!
96
CGHAilliam Bllery Channing
THOUGHTS
I.
Tue Bible is a book worthy to read ; The life of those great Prophets is the life we need, From all delusive seeming ever freed.
Be not afraid to utter what thou art ;
*T is no disgrace to keep an open heart ;
A soul free, frank, and loving friends to aid, Not even does this harm a gentle maid.
Strive as thou canst, thou wilt not value o’er Thy life. Thou standest on a lighted shore, And from the waves of an unfathomed sea The noblest impulses flow tenderly to thee ; Feel them as they arise, and take them free.
Better live unknown,
No heart but thy own
Beating ever near,
To no mortal dear
In thy hemisphere,
Poor and wanting bread, 97
WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING
Steeped in poverty, Than to be a dread, Than to be afraid, From thyself to flee ; For it is not living
To a soul believing,
To change each noble joy
Which our strength employs,
For a state half rotten
And a life of toys.
Better be forgotten
Than lose equipoise. How shall I live? In earnestness. What shall Ido? Work earnestly. What shall I give? A willingness. What shall I gain? Tranquillity. But do you mean a quietness In which I act and no man bless? Flash out in action infinite and free, Action conjoined with deep tranquillity, Resting upon the soul’s true utterance, And life shall flow as merry as a dance.
II.
Life is too good to waste, enough to prize; Keep looking round with clear unhooded eyes ; 98
THOUGHTS
Love all thy brothers, and for them endure Many privations ; the reward is sure.
A little thing! There is no little thing ; Through all a joyful song is murmuring ; Each leaf, each stem, each sound in winter drear Has deepest meanings for an anxious ear.
Thou seest life is sad; the father mourns his wife
and child ; z Keep in the midst of heavy sorrows a fair aspect mild.
A howling fox, a shrieking owl,
A violent distracting ghoul,
Forms of the most infuriate madness, — These may not move thy heart to gladness, But look within the dark outside,
Nought shalt thou hate and nought deride.
Thou meet’st a common man With a delusive show of can. His acts are petty forgeries of natural greatness, That show a dreadful lateness Of this life’s mighty impulses; a want of truthful earnestness ; 99
WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING
He seems, not does, and in that shows No true nobility, — A poor ductility, That no proper office knows, Not even estimation small of human woes.
Be not afraid,
His understanding aid With thy own pure content, On highest’ purpose bent.
Leave him not lonely,
For that his admiration
Fastens on self and seeming only ;
Make a right dedication
Of all thy strength to keep
From swelling that so ample heap
Of lives abused, of virtue given for nought,
And thus it shall appear for all in nature hast thou wrought.
If thou unconsciously perform what ’s good,
Like nature’s self thy proper mood.
A life well spent is like a flower, That had bright sunshine its brief hour ; It flourished in pure willingness;
100
CONTENT
Discovered strongest earnestness ; Was fragrant for each lightest wind ; Was of its own particular kind ; — Nor knew a tone of discord sharp ; Breathed alway like a silver harp; And went to immortality
A very proper thing to die.
CONTENT
Wir the unpainted cottage dwell The spirits of serene content,
As clear as from its moss-grown well Rises the crystal element.
Above, the elm, whose trunk is scarred With many a dint of stormy weather, Rises, a sumptuous screen, debarred Of nothing that links life together.
Our common life may gratify More feelings than the rarest art, For nothing can aspire so high As beatings of the human heart. 101
WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING
O! value then thy daily cheer, Poor pensioner on nature’s store,
And clasp the least, and hold most dear W hat seemeth small, and add the more.
A POET'S HOPE
Lapy, there is a hope that all men have
Some mercy for their faults, a grassy place
To rest in, and a flower-strewn, gentle grave ; Another hope which purifies our race,
That when that fearful bourn forever past, They may find rest, — and rest so long to last.
I seek it not, I ask no rest forever,
_ My path is onward to the farthest shores, — Upbear me in your arms, unceasing river,
That from the soul’s clear fountain swiftly pours, Motionless not, until the end is won,
Which now I feel has scarcely felt the sun.
To feel, to know, to soar unlimited, ’*Mid throngs of light-winged angels sweeping far, And pore upon the realms unvisited, That tesselate the unseen unthought star, 102
ate te ee” ho
= *,
A POET’S HOPE
To be the thing that now I feebly dream Flashing within my faintest, deepest gleam.
Ah, caverns of my soul! how thick your shade, Where flows that life by which I faintly see, — Wave your bright torches, for I need your aid, Golden-eyed demons of my ancestry!
Your son though blinded hath a light within,
A heavenly fire which ye from suns did win.
O Time! O Death! I clasp you in my arms,
For I can soothe an infinite cold sorrow,
And gaze contented on your icy charms,
And that wild snow-pile which we call to-mor- row ;
Sweep on, O soft, and azure-lidded sky,
Earth’s waters to your gentle gaze reply.
I am not earth-born, though I here delay ; Hope’s child, I summon infiniter powers ;
And laugh to see the mild and sunny day Smile on the shrunk and thin autumnal hours; - I laugh, for hope hath happy place with me, If my bark sink, ’t is to another sea.
103
WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING
UNA
WE are centred deeper far
Than the eye of any star,
Nor can rays of long sunlight
Thread a pace of our daylight.
In thy form I see the day
Burning, of a kingdom higher,
In thy silver net-work play
Thoughts that to the Gods aspire ;
In thy cheek I see the flame
Of the studious taper burn,
And thy Grecian eye might tame
Natures ashed in antique urn;
Yet with this lofty element
Flows a pure stream of gentle kindness,
And thou to life thy strength hast lent,
And borne profoundest tenderness
In thy Promethean fearless arm, . With mercy’s love that would all angels charm.
So trembling meek, so proudly strong,
Thou dost to higher worlds belong,
Than where I sing this empty song: 104
PO THE BOn TS
Yet I, a thing of mortal kind,
Can kneel before thy pathless mind, And see in thee what my mates say Sank o’er Judea’s hills one crimson day. Yet flames on high the keen Greek fire, And later ages rarefies,
And even on my tuneless lyre
A faint, wan beam of radiance dies. And might I say what I have thought Of thee, and those I love to-day,
Then had the world an echo caught
Of that intense, impassioned lay, Which sung in those thy being sings, And from the deepest ages rings.
TO THE POETS
THEY who sing the deeds of men, From the earth upraise their fame, Monuments in marble pen, Keeping ever sweet their name, Tell me, Poets, do I hear, What you sing, with pious ear ?
They who sing the maiden’s kiss,
And the silver sage’s thought, 105
WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING
FR BREST RE ET IE ELSES I
Loveliness of inward bliss, Or the graver learning taught, Tell me, are your skies and streams Real, or the shape of dreams ?
Many rainy days must go, Many clouds the sun obscure, But your verses clearly show, And your lovely thoughts more pure, Mortals are we, but you are Burning keenly like a star.
HYMN OF THE EARTH
My highway is unfeatured air,
My consorts are the sleepless stars, And men my giant arms upbear,
My arms unstained and free from scars.
I rest forever on my way,
Rolling around the happy sun, My children love the sunny day, But noon and night to me are one.
My heart has pulses like their own, I am their Mother, and my veins 106
NATURE ———————
Though built of the enduring stone, Thrill as do theirs with godlike pains.
The forests and the mountains high, The foaming ocean and the springs, The plains, — O pleasant company, My voice through all your anthems rings.
Ye are so cheerful in your minds, Content to smile, content to share, My being in your chorus finds The echo of the spheral air.
No leaf may fall, no pebble roll, No drop of water lose the road, The issues of the general Soul Are mirrored in its round abode.
NATURE
I LovE the universe, — I love the joy
Of every living thing. Be mine the sure Felicity, which ever shall endure ;
While passion whirls the madmen, as they toy,
To hate, I would my simple being warm 107
*
WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING
In the calm pouring sun; and in that pure
And motionless silence, ever would employ
My best true powers, without a thought’s annoy. See and be glad! O high imperial race, Dwarfing the common attitude of strength,
Learn that ye stand on an unshaken base ;
Your powers will carry you to any length.
Up! earnestly feel the gentle sunset beams ;
Be glad in woods, o’er sands ; by marsh, or streams.
PRIMAVERA, THE BREATH OF SPRING
Wits the rush and whirl of the fleet wild brook, And the leap of the deer thro’ the deep wild wood, And the eyes of the flowers with that gentle look That shines in the hearts of the triily good,
Dost thou refresh my weary mood.
And chantest thy hymn in the forest old, Where the buds of the trees and their hearts of fire Start to the song of thy harps of gold As the maiden with a timid desire At the thrill of her love’s soft lyre.
Thou passest thy hand o’er the yellow fields With a light caress like a mother’s smile, 108
CONFESSIO AMANTIS
And the bright, soft grass to thy impulse yields The green of its life that has slept the while ; Sweet Spring! Thou knowest many a wile.
And joyfully, Spring, I welcome thee down
To the heavy hearts of my fellow-men ;
To the windews dark of the thick-built town,
And the scholar who sits with his tiresome pen, In the shadow of his den.
Frolic, sweet flowers, along the wall-side,
Along the roadway where the foot-path goes,
And, ferns, in the pines where the rivers glide,
Be as cheerful as where the musk-rose blows, _ And gay as a child each thing that grows.
CONFESSIO AMANTIS
I sTILL can suffer pain ;
I strive and hope in vain ; My wounds may not all heal, Nor time their depth reveal.
So dreamed I, of a summer day,
As in the oak’s cool shade I lay, 109
WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING
LEO EEN BLE TT I TS EEE LE EL Ca a a SL
And thought that shining, lightsome river | Went rippling, rippling on forever : —
That I should bend with pain, Should sing and love in vain ; That I should fret and pine, And hopeless thought define.
I want a true and simple heart, That asks no pleasure in a part, But seeks the whole; and finds the soul, A heart at rest, in sure control.
I shall accept all I may have,
Or fine or foul, or rich or brave; Accept that measure in life’s cup, And touch the rim and raise it up.
Some drop of Time’s strange glass it holds, So much endurance it enfolds ;
Or base and small, or broadly meant,
I cannot spill God’s element.
Dion or Cesar drained no more,
Not Solon, nor a Plato’s lore ;
So much had they the power to do,
So much hadst thou, and equals too. 110
SJames Sreeman Clarke HYMN AND PRAYER
INFINITE Spirit! who art round us ever, In whom we float as motes in summer sky, May neither life nor death the sweet bond sever, Which joins us to our unseen Friend on high.
Unseen, yet not unfelt, if any thought
Has raised our mind from earth, or pure desire, Or generous act, or noble purpose brought,
It is thy breath, O Lord, which fans the fire.
To me, the meanest of thy creatures, kneeling, Conscious of weakness, ignorance, sin, and shame, Give such a force of holy thought and feeling, That I may live to glorify thy name;
That I may conquer base desire and passion, That I may rise o’er selfish thought and will, O’ercome the world’s allurement, threat, and fash- ion, Walk humbly, softly, leaning on thee still. 111
JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE
Iam unworthy. Yet for their dear sake, I ask, whose roots planted in me are found, For precious vines are propped by rudest stake, And heavenly roses fed in darkest ground.
Beneath my leaves, though early fallen and faded, Young plants are warmed, they drink my branches’ dew, Let them not, Lord, by me be Upas-shaded, Make me for their sake firm, and pure, and true.
For their sake too, the faithful, wise, and bold, Whose generous love has been my pride and stay, Those, who have found in me some trace of gold, For their sake purify my lead and clay.
And let not all the pains and toil be wasted, Spent on my youth by saints now gone to rest, . Nor that deep sorrow my Redeemer tasted, When on his soul the guilt of man was prest.
Tender and sensitive he braved the storm,
That we might fly a well deserved fate, 112
—
HYMN AND PRAYER
Poured out his soul in supplication warm, Looked with his eyes of love on eyes of hate. ©
Let all this goodness by my mind be seen, Let all this mercy on my heart be sealed,
Lord, if thou wilt, thy power can make me clean, O speak the word, thy servant shall be healed.
113
Hreveric Henry Wedge
QUESTIONINGS
Haru this world, without me wrought, Other substance than my thought? Lives it by my sense alone,
Or by essence of its own ?
Will its life, with mine begun,
Cease to be when that is done,
Or another consciousness
With the self-same forms impress ?
Doth yon fireball, poised in air,
Hang by my permission there ?
Are the clouds that wander by
But the offspring of mine eye,
Born with every glance I cast, Perishing when that is past?
And those thousand, thousand eyes, Scattered through the twinkling skies, Do they draw their life from mine, Or of their own beauty shine ?
Now I close my eyes, my ears, And creation disappears ; 114
~ 7s
QUESTIONINGS
Yet if I but speak the word,
All creation is restored.
Or, more wonderful, within
New creations do begin ;
Hues more bright and forms more rare Than reality doth wear
Flash across my inward sense,
Born of the mind’s omnipotence.
Soul! that all informest, say! Shall these glories pass away ? Will those planets cease to blaze When these eyes no longer gaze And the life of things be o’er When these pulses beat no more?
Thought! that in me works and lives, — Life to all things living gives, —
Art thou not thyself, perchance,
But the universe in trance ?
A reflection inly flung
By that world thou fanciedst sprung From thyself — thyself a dream —
Of the world’s thinking thou the theme.
Be it thus, or be thy birth From a source above the earth — 115
ee oy 1& Se . ¥
a a »y of, So y
FREDERIC HENRY HEDGE
Be thou matter, be thou mind, ?
In thee alone myself I find, _
And through thee alone, for me,
Hath this world reality. : Therefore, in thee will I live,
To thee all myself will give,
Losing still, that I may find
This bounded self in boundless Mind. —
116
Sohn Sulliban Bwight REST
SWEET is the pleasure Itself cannot spoil !
Is not true leisure One with true toil?
Thou that wouldst taste it, Still do thy best ;
Use it, not waste it, Else ’tis no rest.
Wouldst behold beauty Near thee ? all round ? Only hath duty Such a sight found.
Rest is not quitting The busy career ; Rest is the fitting Of self to its sphere.
’T is the brook’s motion, Clear without strife, 117
ce asi >, 6 21.) ee © el ty te
JOHN SULLIVAN DWIGHT
Fleeing to ocean After its life.
Deeper devotion Nowhere hath knelt ; Fuller emotion Heart never felt.
’T is loving and serving The Highest and Best!
’T is onwards, unswerving, And that is true rest.
WORK WHILE IT IS DAY
Work, and thou wilt bless the day Ere the toil be done ;
They that work not cannot pray, Cannot feel the sun.
God is living, working still ; All things work and move ;
Work, or lose the power to will, Lose the power to love.
All the rolling planets glow Bright as burning gold ; 118
MUSIC
Should they pause, how soon they ’d grow Colorless and cold!
Joy and beauty, where were they, If the world stood still ?
Like the world, thy law obey, And thy calling fill.
Love to labor owes its health, Will its willing powers ; Industry alone is wealth, What we do is ours. Load the day with deeds of thought, While it waits for thee ; Then despatch it, richly fraught, To eternity.
MUSIC
Music ’s the measure of the planet’s motion, Heart-beat and rhythm of the glorious whole ; Fugue-like the streams roll, and the choral ocean Heaves in obedience to its high control. Thrills through all hearts the uniform vibration, Starting from God, and felt from sun to sun ; God gives the key-note, Love to all creation ; Join, O my soul, and let all souls be one! 119
eh Dah hn Osta Ry eae wis hy by Sich, ey : ers a A avd 37 J "=
Jlisa Chaver Clapp
«THE FUTURE IS BETTER THAN THE PAST”
Nor where long-passed ages sleep
Seek we Eden’s golden trees ; In the future, folded deep, | Are its mystic harmonies.
All before us lies the way,
Give the past unto the wind ; All before us is the day,
Night and darkness are behind.
Eden with its angels bold,
Love and flowers and coolest sea, Is not ancient story told,
But a glowing prophecy.
In the spirit’s perfect air, In the passions tame and kind, Innocence from selfish care, The real Eden we shall find. 120
THE FUTURE BETTER
It is coming, it shall come, To the patient and the striving, To the quiet heart at home, Thinking wise and faithful living.
When all error is worked out From the heart and from the life ; When the sensuous is laid low, Through the spirit’s holy strife ;
When the soul to sin hath died, True and beautiful and sound ; Then all earth is sanctified, Up springs Paradise around.
Then shall come the Eden days, Guardian watch from seraph-eyes ; Angels on the slanting rays, Voices from the opening skies,
From this spirit-land afar All disturbing force shall flee ; Stir nor toil nor hope shall mar Its immortal unity.
121
ELIZA THAYER CLAPP
a el
HYMN TO THE GOD OF STARS
Gop of those splendid stars! I need Thy presence, need to know That thou art God, my God indeed.
Cold and far off they shine, they glow, In their strange brightness, like to spirit’s eyes, Awful, intensely on my naked soul ; Beautiful are they, but so strange, so cold, I know them not: I shrink, I cling Like a scared insect to this whirling ball, Upon whose swelling lines I woke one morn, Unknowing who I was or whence I came; And still I know not: fastened to its verge By a resistless power, with it I speed On its eternal way, and those strange eyes, Those starry eyes, look ever on me thus; I wake, I sleep, but still they look on me, Mild yet reproachful, beautiful but strange. Visions are round me, — many moving things, In clothing beautiful; soft and colored forms With drooping heads caressing ; eyes so meek And loving and appealing, but they hold A nature strange and different, each enwrapt In its own mortal mystery: near they are,
122
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THE GOD OF STARS
And yet how distant, — familiar, fond, Yet strangers all! I know not what they are.
And higher forms, from out whose mystic eyes, Gracefully curved and vestal-like, obscured
By shading lashes, looks a being out,
That seems myself and is not, — kindred linked, Yet most communionless: I know them not, Nor they know me; nearest, yet most apart, Moving in saddest mystery each to each,
Like spellbound souls that coldly meet in dreams Which in some waking hour had intertwined.
Yet some, too, woven with me in a veil, Viewless, but all-enduring, — kindred love: Their eyes are on me like awakening light ; They touch my forehead, press my given hand, Smile rare or oft, or sit most silently ;
Yet all is understood, — the watchful care,
The sympathetic joy, and the unutterable wealth Of helping tears, — all, all is understood :
Sure these are me; sure my affections, theirs, Awe-stricken thoughts and over-rushing sins, My hopes, my loves, my struggles, and my straits Are theirs to bear, to know, to carry out,
To sift, to learn, to war and wrestle through, 123
ELIZA THAYER CLAPP
Ah, no! oh, no! for every spirit round
There is a circle where no other comes.
Even when we lay our head upon the breast,
And pour our thoughts as liquid jewels out,
And feel the strength that comes from soul be- loved
Steal through our own as steals the living heat,
Nurture and bloom into the opening leaves ;
Yet is the spirit lone, — its problem deep
No other may work out; its mystic way
No other wing may try: passionate hopes,
Mighty yet powerless, and most awful fears,
Its strength ne’er equal to the burden laid,
Longings to stop, yet eagerness to go,
Is its alone; a wall unscalable
Circuits the soul, — its fellows cannot pass ;
The mother may not spoil the child, to take
The youthful burden on her willing heart,
Nor friend enfranchise friend. Alone, alone
The soul must do its own immortal work ;
The best beloved most distant are ; the near
Far severed wide. Soul knows not soul,
Not more than these unanswering stars divine.
God of these stars sublime! I need
Thy presence, need to know 124
THE GOD OF STARS
That thou art God, my God indeed. Shield me, ’mid thine innumerable worlds ; Give me some point where I may rest,
While thy unceasing ages flow ;
Hide me from thine irradiated stars,
And the far sadder light, untraceable
Of human eyes ; for strangers are they all, A wandering thought on the resistless air ; A questioning wail o’er the unlistening sea. Recall, Eternal Source! and reassume
In thine own essence peace unutterable !
125
Charles Timothy Brooks
THE GREAT VOICES
A VOICE from the sea to the mountains, From the mountains again to the sea;
A call from the deep to the fountains: O spirit! be glad and be free!
A cry from the floods to the fountains, And the torrents repeat the glad song
As they leap from the breast of the mountains :
O spirit! be free and be strong !
The pine forests thrill with emotion Of praise as the spirit sweeps by; With the voice like the murmur of ocean To the soul of the listener they.cry.
Oh, sing, human heart, like the fountains, With joy reverential and free ;
Contented and calm as the mountains, And deep as the woods and the sea.
126
— See Se . eer Tse ee ee
shai
eee
THE VOICE OF THE PINE
THE VOICE OF THE PINE
O rau old pine! O gloomy pine!
Old grim, gigantic, gloomy pine!
What is there in that voice of thine That thrills so deep this heart of mine?
Is it that in thy mournful sigh Old years and voices long gone by, And feelings that can never die, Come thronging back on memory ?
Is it that in thy solemn roar
My listening spirit hears once more The trumpet-music of the host
Of billows round my native coast ?
Or is it that I catch a sound
Of that more vast and dread profound, — The soul’s unfathomable sea,
The ocean of eternity ?
127
Jallen Mooper
BEAUTY AND DUTY
I sLepT, and dreamed that life was beauty ; I woke, and found that life was duty.
Was thy dream then a shadowy lie?
Toil on, sad heart, courageously,
And thou shalt find thy dream to be
A noonday light and truth to thee.
THE STRAIGHT ROAD
BEAUTY may be the path to highest good, | And some successfully have it pursued. 4 Thou, who wouldst follow, be well warned to see | That way prove not a curved road to thee. The straightest path perhaps which may be sought, Lies through the great highway men call “ I ought.”
THE HEART’S CURE
‘¢ Heart, heart, lie still! Life is fleeting fast, 128
THE POET
Strife will soon be past.” «¢ ] cannot lie still, Beat strong I-will.”
‘¢ Heart, heart, lie still! Joy’s but joy, and pain ’s but pain, Either, little loss or gain.”
‘‘T cannot lie still,
Beat strong I will.”
‘‘ Heart, heart, lie still ! Heaven is over all, Rules this earthly ball.” «“ T cannot lie still, Beat strong I will.”
‘“‘ Heart, heart, lie still ! Heaven’s sweet grace alone Can keep in peace its own.”
“‘ Let that me fill,
And I am still.”
THE POET
Hz touched the earth, a soul of flame, His bearing proud, his spirit high, 129
ELLEN HOOPER
Filled with the heavens from whence he came, He smiled upon man’s destiny.
Yet smiled as one who knew no fear, And felt a secret strength within, Who wondered at the pitying tear Shed over human loss and sin.
Lit by an inward brighter light,
Than aught that round about him shone, He walked erect through shades of night, Clear was his pathway, but how lone!
Men gaze in wonder and in awe Upon a form so like to theirs, Worship the presence, yet withdraw, And carry elsewhere warmer prayers.
Yet when the glorious pilgrim guest, Forgetting once his strange estate, Unloosed the lyre from off his breast And strung its chords to human fate ;
And gaily snatching some rude air,
Carolled by idle passing tongue,
Gave back the notes that lingered there,
And in heaven’s tones earth’s low lay sung ; 130
THE NOBLY BORN
Then warmly grasped the hand that sought To thank him with a brother’s soul,
And when the generous wine was brought, Shared in the feast and quaffed the bowl ; —
Men laid their hearts low at his feet, And sunned their being in his light, Pressed on his way his steps to greet, And in his love forgot his might.
And when, a wanderer long on earth,
On him its shadow also fell,
And dimmed the lustre of a birth,
Whose day-spring was from heaven’s own well,
They cherished even the tears he shed, Their woes were hallowed by his woe, Humanity, half cold and dead,
Had been revived in genius’ glow.
THE NOBLY BORN
Wao counts himself as nobly born Is noble in despite of place, And honors are but brands to one Who wears them not with nature’s grace. 131
ELLEN HOOPER
The prince may sit with clown or churl, Nor feel his state disgraced thereby ;
But he who has but small esteem Husbands that little carefully.
Then, be thou peasant, be thou peer, Count it still more thou art thine own ; Stand on a larger heraldry Than that of nation or of zone.
What though not bid to knightly halls? Those halls have missed a courtly guest ; That mansion is not privileged, Which is not open to the best.
Give honor due when custom asks, Nor wrangle for this lesser claim ; It is not to be destitute, To have the thing without the name.
Then dost thou come of gentle blood, Disgrace not thy good company ; — If lowly born, so bear thyself That gentle blood may come of thee.
Strive not with pain to scale the height Of some fair garden’s petty wall, 132
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WAYFARERS
But scale the open mountain side, Whose summit rises over all.
THE GOAL
I spRANG on life’s free course, I tasked myself, And questioned what and how I meant to be; And leaving far behind me power and pelf, I fixed a goal, — nor farther could I see.
For this I toiled, for this I ran and bled, And proudly thought upon my laurels there. Lo, here I stand! all childlike to be led. My goal, self-fixed, has vanished into air. I run, I toil, but see not all my way ; Ever more pure it shines into a perfect day.
WAYFARERS
How they go by —those strange and dreamlike men ! One glance on each, one gleam from. out each eye, And that I never looked upon till now, Has vanished out of sight as instantly. 133
ELLEN HOOPER
Yet in it passed there a whole heart and life, The only key it gave that transient look ;
But for this key its great event in time
Of peace or strife to me a sealéd book.
THE CHIMNEY-SWEEP
SwEErP ho! Sweep ho! He trudges on through sleet and snow. Tired and hungry both is he, And he whistles vacantly. Sooty black his rags and skin, But the child is fair within. Ice and cold are better far Than his master’s curses are. Mother of this little one, Couldst thou see thy little son!
Sweep ho! Sweep ho! He trudges on through sleet and snow. At the great man’s door he knocks, Which the servant maid unlocks. Now let in with laugh and jeer, In his eye there stands a tear. He is young, but soon will know How to bear both word and blow.
134
A SPIRIT SHROUDED
Sweep ho! Sweep ho! In the chimney sleet and snow. Gladly should his task be done, Were ’t the last beneath the sun. Faithfully it now shall be, But, soon spent, down droppeth he. Gazes round as in a dream, Very strange, but true, things seem. Led by a fantastic power Which sets by the present hour, Creeps he to a little bed, Pillows there his aching head, Falls into a sudden sleep Like his childhood’s sweet and deep ; But, poor thing! he does not know Here he lay long years ago! |
HYMN OF A SPIRIT SHROUDED
|
O Gop, who, in thy dear still heaven, Dost sit, and wait to see
The errors, sufferings, and crimes Of our humanity,
How deep must be thy causal love!
How whole thy final care! 135
ELLEN HOOPER
Since Thou, who rulest over all, Canst see, and yet canst bear.
ONE ABOUT TO DIE
Ou, melancholy liberty
Of one about to die —
When friends, with a sad smile, And aching heart the while, Every caprice allow,
Nor deem it worth while now To check the restless will Which death so soon shall still.
TO oR. o Weed.
Dry lighted soul, the ray that shines in thee, Shot without reflex from primeval sun, We twine the laurel for the victories Which thou on thought’s broad, bloodless field hast won.
Thou art the mountain where we climb to see The land our feet have trod this many a year. 136
THE WOOD-FIRE OLE TI EB NEEL EEG ELLE T LORE EBD EOE II LENE NIE ELIOT GES
Thou art the deep and crystal winter sky, Where noiseless, one by one, bright stars appear.
It may be Bacchus, at thy birth, forgot
That drop from out the purple grape to press Which is his gift to man, and so thy blood
Doth miss the heat which ofttimes breeds excess.
But, all more surely do we turn to thee
When the day’s heat and blinding dust are o’er, And cool our souls in thy refreshing air, |
And find the peace which we had lost before.
THE WOOD-FIRE
Tuis bright wood-fire So like to that which warmed and lit My youthful days — how doth it flit Back on the periods nigher, Relighting and rewarming with its glow The bright scenes of my youth — all gone out now. How eagerly its flickering blaze doth catch On every point now wrapped in time’s deep shade, Into what wild grotesqueness by its flash And fitful checquering is the picture made!
When I am glad or gay, 137
ELLEN HOOPER
Let me walk forth into the brilliant sun,
And with congenial rays be shone upon ;
When I am sad, or thought-bewitched would be, Let me glide forth in moonlight’s mystery,
But never, while I live this changeful life,
This past and future with all wonders rife, Never, bright flame, may be denied to me
Thy dear, life-imaging, close sympathy.
What but my hopes shot upward e’er so bright? What but my fortunes sank so low in night ?
Why art thou banished from our hearth and hall, Thou who art welcomed and beloved by all? Was thy existence then too fanciful For our life’s common light, who are so dull? Did thy bright gleam mysterious converse hold With our congenial souls? secrets too bold ? Well, we are safe and strong, for now we sit Beside a hearth where no dim shadows flit, Where nothing cheers nor saddens, but a fire Warms feet and hands — nor does to more aspire ; By whose compact, utilitarian heap, The present may sit down and go to sleep, Nor fear the ghosts who from the dim past walked, And with us by the unequal light of the old wood-
fire talked.
138
SS
TO THE IDEAL
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TO THE IDEAL
Au! what avails it thus to dream of thee, Thou life above me, and aspire to be A dweller in thy air serene and pure ;
‘I wake, and must this lower life endure.
Look no more on me with sun-radiant eyes,
Mine droop so dimmed, in vain my weak sense tries To find the color of this world of clay, —
Its hue has faded, its light died away.
In charity with life, how can [I live?
What most I want, does it refuse to give. Thou, who hast laid this spell upon my soul, Must be to me henceforth a hope and goal. |
Away, thou vision! Now must there be wrought Armor from life in which may yet be fought
A way to thee, — thy memory shall inspire, Although thy presence is consuming fire.
As one who may not linger in the halls, And fair domains of this ancestral home, 139
ELLEN HOOPER
Goes forth to labor, yet resolves those walls, Redeemed, shall see his old age cease to roam, —
So exile I myself, thou dream of youth,
Thou castle where my wild thoughts wandered free,
Yet, bear a heart, which, through its love and truth,
Shall earn a right to throb its last with thee.
To work! with heart resigned, and spirit strong, Subdued by patient toil Time’s heavy wrong ; Through nature’s dullest, as her brightest ways We will march onward, singing to thy praise.
Yet when our souls are in new forms arrayed, Like thine, immortal, by immortal aid,
And with forgiving blessing stand beside
The clay in which they toiled and long were tried.
When comes that solemn “undetermined ” hour, Light of the soul’s light! present be thy power ; And welcome be thou, as a friend who waits With joy, a soul unsphered at heaven’s gates.
140
Caroline Tappan
ART AND ARTIST
Wirs dauntless eye the lofty one Moves on through life ; Majestic as the mighty sun He knows no strife.
He sees the thought flow to the form, © And rise like bubble bright ;
A moment of beauty, — and it is gone, Dissolved in light.
AFTERNOON
C—O eS.
7 I LIE upon the earth and feed upon the sky, Drink in the soft, deep blue, falling from on high. Walnut boughs, all steeped in gold, quiver to and fro ; Winds like spirits murmur, as through the air they 59, My soul is filled with joy and holy faith and love, For noble friends on earth and angels pure above. 141
CAROLINE TAPPAN
LINES
You go to the woods — what there have you seen? Quivering leaves glossy and green ;
Lights and shadows dance to and fro,
Beautiful flowers in the soft moss grow.
Is the secret of these things known to you ?
Can you tell what gives the flower its hue? Why the oak spreads out its limbs so wide ? And the graceful grape-vine grows by its side ? Why clouds full of sunshine are piled on high? What sends the wind to sweep through the sky ? No! the secret of Nature I do not know —
A poor groping child, through her marvels I go!
THE BROOK
ALL the eyes I ever knew In this my strange life-dream, Hazel, gray, and deepest blue, Are-mingled in this stream.
It wins its way into my soul, Awakes each hidden feeling, 142
THE HERO
Gives me a rapture beyond control, High love fills all my being.
In earnest eyes I chiefly live,
All words to me are naught,
For me they neither take nor give,
: In the eye the soul is caught.
And now to see all that I love, And have gazed at many an hour,
Blended together, — has heaven above A greater joy in store ?
THE HERO
TuHovu hast learned the woes of all the world! From thine own longings and lone tears, And now thy broad sails are unfurled, And all men hail thee with loud cheers.
The flowing sunlight is thy home, The billows of the sea are thine,
To all the nations shalt thou roam, Through every heart thy love shall shine.
143
CAROLINE TAPPAN
The subtlest thought that finds its goal Far, far beyond the horizon’s verge, Oh, shoot it forth on arrows bold, The thoughts of men, on, on, to urge.
Toil not to free the slave from chains, Think not to give the laborer rest ;
Unless rich beauty fills the plains, The free man wanders still unblest.
All men can dig, and hew rude stone, But thou must carve the frieze above ;
And columned high, through thee alone, Shall rise our frescoed homes of love.
144
—_— eS ge a.
Charles Anverson Mana
HERZLIEBSTE
My love for thee hath grown as grows the flowers, Earthly at first, fast rooted in the earth,
Yet, with the promise of a better birth,
Putting forth shoots of newly wakened powers,
Tender green hopes, dreams which no God makes ours ;
And then the stalk, fitted life’s frosts to bear,
To brave the wildest tempest’s wildest art,
The immovable resolution of the heart
Ready and armed a world of ills to dare ;
And then the flower, fairest of things most fair,
The flower divine of love imperishable,
That seeth in thee the sum of things that are,
That hath no eye for aught mean or unstable, —
But ever trustful, ever prayerful, feeleth
The mysteries the Holy Ghost revealeth.
VIA SACRA
SLOWLY along the crowded street I go, Marking with reverent look each passer’s face, 145
CHARLES ANDERSON DANA
Seeking and not in vain, in each to trace
That primal soul whereof he is the show.
For here still move, by many eyes unseen,
The blessed gods that erst Olympus kept.
Through every guise these lofty forms serene
Declare the all-holding life hath never slept,
But known each thrill that in man’s heart hath been,
And every tear that his sad eyes have wept.
Alas for us! the heavenly visitants, —
We greet them still as most unwelcome guests
Answering their smile with hateful looks askance,
Their sacred speech with foolish, bitter jests ;
But oh! what is it to imperial Jove
That this poor world refuses all his love ?
ETERNITY
UrrteR no whisper of thy human speech,
But in celestial silence let us tell
Of the great waves of God that through us swell, Revealing what no tongue could ever teach ; Break not the omnipotent calm, even by a prayer, Filled with Infinite, seek no lesser boon :
146
AD ARMA!
But with these pines, and with the all-loving moon, Asking naught, yield thee to the Only Fair ;
So shall these moments so divine and rare,
These passing moments of the soul’s high noon, Be of thy day the first pale blush of morn ;
Clad in white raiment of God’s newly born, Thyself shalt see when the great world is made That flows forever from a Love unstayed.
AD ARMA!
Ou loiterer, that dalliest with thy dreams, Content to watch thyself in graceful ease,
While clang of steel burdens each passing breeze, And all the air is radiant with its gleams ; Where noble hearts, as noble heart beseems, Answer the world’s great cry with earnest deeds, Fulfilling thus their own most inward needs ;
Is there no Spartan nerve in all thy frame
That feels the summons to that solemn field! And canst thou then its sacred honors yield, And the high guerdon of eternal fame,
For purple skies and wreaths of fading flowers, And the short lustre of these flitting hours ?
147
CHARLES ANDERSON DANA
THE BANKRUPT
Wir what a deep and ever deeper joy
Upon that hope my life I prided all,
Thoughtless if woe which might that life destroy, Or Heaven’s own blessedness should thence befall ; Like as a venturous mariner that sails,
To seek those unknown Islands of the Blest ; Heedless that he who on that voyage fails, Desolate seas and tossing storms must breast, Till in his agony he gladly hails
The yawning wave that gulfs him down to rest; So have I ventured thy dear love to gain,
And failing that I fail of all beside.
To my wrecked heart all voices speak in vain, Duty and Hope, Friendship, and even Pride, As sad, alone, indifferent, I wait
Invoking the last gloomy stroke of Fate.
148
George dH#illiam Curtis
SPRING SONG
A BIRD sang sweet and strong In the top of the highest tree ;
He said, “I pour out my heart in song For the summer that soon shall be!”
But deep in the shady wood, Another bird sang, “ I pour My heart on the solemn solitude, For the springs that return no more.”
EBB AND FLOW
I WALKED beside the evening sea,
And dreamed a dream that could not be ;
The waves that plunged along the shore
Said only —“‘ Dreamer, dream no more.”
But still the legions charged the beach ;
Loud rang their battle-cry, like speech ; 149
GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS
But changed was the imperial strain : It murmured — “ Dreamer, dream again ! ”
I homeward turned from out the gloom, — That sound I heard not in my room ;
But suddenly a sound, that stirred
Within my very breast, I heard.
It was my heart, that like a sea
Within my breast beat ceaselessly ;
But like the waves along the shore,
It said — “ Dream on!” and “ Dream no more!’
150
eS OO ee ee a eee
Jones Wery THE BARBERRY-BUSH
THE bush that has most berries and bitter fruit Waits till the frost has turned its green leaves red, Its sweetened berries will thy palate suit,
And thou mayst find e’en there a homely bread ; Upon the hills of Salem scattered wide, | Their yellow blossoms gain the eye in Spring ; And straggling e’en upon the turnpike’s side, Their ripened branches to your hand they bring ; I’ve plucked them oft in boyhood’s early hour, That then I gave such name, and thought it true ; But now I know that other fruit as sour
Grows on what now thou callest Me and You ; Yet wilt thou wait the autumn that I see,
Will sweeter taste than these red berries be.
THE PRAYER
Wut Thou not visit me?
The plant beside me feels Thy gentle dew ; 151
JONES VERY
And every blade of grass I see, From Thy deep earth its quickening moisture drew.
Wilt Thou not visit me? | Thy morning calls on me with cheering tone ; | And every hill and tree Lends but one voice, the voice of Thee alone.
Come, for I need Thy love,
More than the flower the dew, or grass the rain ; Come, gently as Thy holy dove ;
And let me in Thy sight rejoice to live again.
I will not hide from them, When Thy storms come, though fierce may be their wrath ; But bow with leafy stem, And strengthened follow on Thy chosen path.
Yes, Thou wilt visit me,
Nor plant nor tree Thine eye delights so well, As when from sin set free
My spirit loves with Thine in peace to dwell.
152
THE SON
EAGT LEI ED ILO CITES EL EEE EN TEI ELE ELE NINE OEE TT TT ALLE LLL PC AEE LLTREEN NRE)
THE PRESENCE
I str within my room, and joy to find
That Thou who always lov’st art with me here, That I am never left by Thee behind,
But by thyself Thou keep’st me ever near ; The fire burns brighter when with Thee I look, And seems a kinder servant sent to me; With gladder heart I read Thy holy book, Because Thou art the eyes by which I see; This aged chair, that table, watch and door Around in ready service ever wait ;
Nor can I ask of Thee a menial more
To fill the measure of my large estate,
For Thou thyself, with all a father’s care, Where’er I turn, art ever with me there.
THE SON
Fatuer, I wait thy word. The sun doth stand Beneath the mingling line of night and day, A listening servant, waiting thy command
To roll rejoicing on its silent way ; 153
JONES VERY
The tongue of time abides the appointed hour,
Till on our ear its solemn warnings fall ;
The heavy cloud withholds the pelting shower,
Then every drop speeds onward at thy call ;
The bird reposes on the yielding bough,
With breast unswollen by the tide of song ;
So does my spirit wait thy presence now
To pour thy praise in quickening life along,
Chiding with voice divine man’s lengthened sleep,
While round the Unuttered Word and Love their vigils keep.
THE SPIRIT LAND
FatHer! Thy wonders do not singly stand, Nor far removed where feet have seldom strayed ; Around us ever lies the enchanted land In marvels rich to Thine own sons displayed ; In finding Thee are all things round us found ; In losing Thee are all things lost beside ; Ears have we, but in vain strange voices sound, And to our eyes the vision is denied ; We wander in the country far remote, "Mid tombs and ruined piles in death to dwell ; Or on the records of past greatness dote,
154
————
THE IDLER
And for a buried soul the living sell ; While on our path bewildered falls the night That ne’er returns us to the fields of light.
THE VIOLET
Txov tellest truths unspoken yet by man,
By this thy lonely home and modest look ;
For he has not the eyes such truths to scan,
Nor learns to read from such a lowly book.
With him it is not life firm-fixed to grow
Beneath the outspreading oaks and rising pines,
Content this humble lot of thine to know,
The nearest neighbor of the creeping vines ;
Without fixed root he cannot trust like thee
The rain will know the appointed hour to fall,
But fears lest sun or shower may hurtful be,
And would delay, or speed them with his call ;
Nor trust like thee, when wintry winds blow cold,
Whose shrinking form the withered leaves en- fold.
THE IDLER
I LE stand, that I may find employ, Such as my Master when He comes will give ; 155
Shae ee
JONES VERY
RA ERNE SERS ES ET LT a I cannot find in mine own work my joy, But wait, although in waiting I must live ; My body shall not turn which way it will, But stand till I the appointed road can find, And journeying so His messages fulfil, And do at every step the work designed. Enough for me, still day by day to wait Till Thou who form’st me find’st me too a
task :
A cripple lying at the rich man’s gate, Content for the few crumbs I get to ask ; A laborer but in heart, while bound my hands Hang idly down still waiting Thy commands.
THE LIGHT FROM WITHIN
I saw on earth another light Than that which lit my eye Come forth as from my soul within, And from a higher sky.
Its beams shone still unclouded on, When in the farthest west The sun I once had known had sunk Forever to his rest. 156
‘ip Ale LARS
HEALTH OF BODY
And on I walked, though dark the night, Nor rose his orb by day ;
As one who by a surer guide Was pointed out the way.
*T was brighter far than noonday’s beam ; It shone from God within,
And lit, as by a lamp from heaven, The world’s dark track of sin.
HEALTH OF BODY DEPENDENT ON THE SOUL
Nor from the earth, or skies, Or seasons as they roll,
Come health and vigor to the frame, But from the living soul.
Is this alive to God, And not the slave to sin? Then will the body, too, receive Health from the soul within.
But if disease has touched The spirit’s inmost part, 157
JONES VERY
In vain we seek from outward things | To heal the deadly smart.
The mind, the heart unchanged, Which clouded e’en our home,
Will make the outward world the same Where’er our feet may roam.
The fairest scenes on earth, The mildest, purest sky,
Will bring no vigor to the step, No lustre to the eye.
For He who formed our frame Made man a perfect whole,
And made the body’s health depend Upon the living soul.
THE SILENT
THERE is a sighing in the wood, A murmur in the beating wave, The heart has never understood To tell in words the thoughts they gave.
Yet oft it feels an answering tone, When wandering on the lonely shore ; 158
NATURE
And could the lips its voice make known, ’T would sound as does the ocean’s roar.
And oft beneath the windswept pine
Some chord is struck the strain to swell; Nor sounds nor language can define, —
°T is not for words or sounds to tell.
T is all unheard, that Silent Voice, Whose goings forth, unknown to all,
Bids bending reed and bird rejoice, And fills with music Nature’s hall.
And in the speechless human heart
It speaks, where’er man’s feet have trod ; Beyond the lips’ deceitful art,
To tell of Him, the Unseen God.
NATURE
THE bubbling brook doth leap when I come by, Because my feet find measure with its call ; The birds know when the friend they love is nigh, For I am known to them, both great and small ; The flowers that on the lovely hillside grow
159
JONES VERY
Expect me there when Spring their bloom has given 5
And many a tree and bush my wanderings know, ¢
And e’en the clouds and silent stars of heaven ;
For he who with his Maker walks aright,
Shall be their lord, as Adam was before ;
His ear shall catch each sound with new delight,
Each object wear the dress which then it wore ;
And he, as when erect in soul he stood,
Hear from his Father’s lips that all is good.
160
Theovore Parker THE HIGHER GOOD
FaTuER, I will not ask for wealth or fame,
Though once they would have joyed my carnal sense:
I shudder not to bear a hated name,
Wanting all wealth, myself my sole defence.
But give me, Lord, eyes to behold the truth ;
A seeing sense that knows the eternal right ;
A heart with pity filled, and gentlest ruth ;
A manly faith that makes all darkness light :
Give me the power to labor for mankind ;
Make me the mouth of such as cannot speak ;
Eyes let me be to groping men and blind ;
A conscience to the base; and to the weak
Let me be hands and feet; and to the foolish, mind ;
And lead still further on such as thy kingdom seek. THE WAY, THE TRUTH, THE LIFE O THOU great Friend to all the sons of men,
Who once appear’dst in humblest guise below, 161
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THEODORE PARKER
Sin to rebuke, to break the captive’s chain, -
To call thy brethren forth from want and woe ! —
Thee would I sing. Thy truth is still the light
Which guides the nations groping on their way,
Stumbling and falling in disastrous night,
Yet hoping ever for the perfect day.
Yes, thou art still the life ; thou art the way
The holiest know, — light, life, and way of heaven ;
And they who dearest hope and deepest pray
Toil by the truth, life, way that thou hast given ;
And in thy name aspiring mortals trust
To uplift their bleeding brothers rescued from the dust.
162
Samuel Gray Ward
THE CONSOLERS
Conso.ers of the solitary hours
When I, a pilgrim, on a lonely shore
Sought help, and found none, save in those high powers
That then I prayed might never leave me more!
There was the blue, eternal sky above,
There was the ocean silent at my feet,
There was the universe — but nought to love ;
The universe did its old tale repeat.
Then came ye to me, with your healing wings,
And said, ‘ Thus bare and branchless must thou be,
Ere thou couldst feel the wind from heaven that springs.”
And now again fresh leaves do bud for me, —
Yet let me feel that still the spirit sings
In quiet song, coming from heaven free.
THE SHIELD
THE old man said, “‘ Take thou this shield, my son,
Long tried in battle, and long tried by age, 163
SAMUEL GRAY WARD
Guarded by this thy fathers did engage, Trusting to this the victory they have won.”
Forth from the tower Hope and Desire had built,
In youth’s bright morn I gazed upon the plain, —
There struggled countless hosts, while many a stain
Marked where the blood of brave men had been spilt.
With spirit strong I buckled to the fight, What sudden chill rushes through every vein ? Those fatal arms oppress me — all in vain My fainting limbs seek their accustomed might.
Forged were those arms for men of other mould ;
Our hands they fetter, cramp our spirits free :
I throw them on the ground, and suddenly
Comes back my strength — returns my spirit bold.
I stand alone, unarmed, yet not alone ; Who heeds no law but that within he finds, Trusts his own vision, not to other minds, He fights with thee — Father, aid thou thy son. 164
David Atwood Witasson IDEALS
ANGELS of growth, of old in that surprise Of your first vision, wild and sweet, I poured in passionate er My wish unwise That ye descend my heart to meet, — My heart so slow to rise !
Now thus I pray: Angelic be to hold In heaven your shining poise afar, And to my wishes bold Reply with cold Sweet invitation, like a star Fixed in the heavens old.
Did ye descend, what were ye more than [? Is ’t not by this ye are divine, — That, native to the sky, Ye cannot hie Downward, and give low hearts the wine That should reward the high? 165
DAVID ATWOOD WASSON
Weak, yet in weakness I no more complain Of your abiding in your places ; Oh, still, howe’er my pain Wild prayers may rain, Keep pure on high the perfect graces, That, stooping, could but stain !
Not to content our lowness, but to lure And lift us to your angelhood, Do your surprises pure Dawn far and sure Above the tumult of young blood, And starlike there endure.
Wait there, — wait, and invite me while I climb; For see, I come ! — but slow, but slow! Yet ever as your chime, Soft and sublime, Lifts at my feet, they move, they go Up the great stair of time.
SEEN AND UNSEEN
THE wind ahead, the billows high, A whited wave, but sable sky, 166
SEEN AND UNSEEN
And many a league of tossing sea Between the hearts I love and me.
The wind ahead! day after day
These weary words the sailors say ;
To weeks the days are lengthening now, — Still mounts the surge to meet our prow.
Through longing day and lingering night, I still accuse Time’s lagging flight,
Or gaze out o’er the envious sea,
That keeps the hearts I love from me.
Yet, ah! how shallow is my grief! How instant is the deep relief!
And what a hypocrite am I,
To feign forlorn, to ’plain and sigh!
The wind ahead! - The wind is free! For evermore it favoreth me, —
To shores of God still blowing fair, O’er seas of God my bark doth bear.
This surging brine J do not sail ; This blast adverse is not my gale; ’T is here I only seem to be, But really sail another sea, —
167
DAVID ATWOOD WASSON
Another sea, pure sky its waves, Whose beauty hides no heaving graves ; A sea all haven, whereupon
No helpless bark to wreck has gone.
The winds that o’er my ocean run
Reach through all worlds beyond the sun ; Through life and death, through fate, through time, Grand breaths of God they sweep sublime. __
Eternal trades, they cannot veer,
And, blowing, teach us how to steer ; And well for him whose joy, whose care, Is but to keep before them fair.
O thou God’s mariner, heart of mine! Spread canvas to the airs divine! Spread sail! and let thy Fortune be Forgotten in thy Destiny.
For Destiny pursues us well,
By sea, by land, through heaven or hell ; It suffers Death alone to die,
Bids Life all change and chance defy.
Would earth’s dark ocean suck thee down ? Earth’s ocean thou, O Life! shalt drown ; 168
ALL’S WELL
Shalt flood it with thy finer wave, And, sepulchred, entomb thy grave!
Life loveth life and good, then trust What most the spirit would, it must ; Deep wishes in the heart that be,
Are blossoms of Necessity.
A thread of Law runs through thy prayer, Stronger than iron cables are ;
And Love and Longing toward their goal Are pilots sweet to guide the soul.
So Life must live, and Soul must sail, And Unseen over Seen prevail ; And all God’s argosies come to shore, Let ocean smile, or rage or roar.
And so, ’mid storm or calm, my bark With snowy wake still nears her mark ; Cheerly the trades of being blow,
And sweeping down the wind I go.
ALL’S WELL
SwEET-voicED Hope, thy fine discourse Foretold not half life’s good to me ; 169
DAVID ATWOOD WASSON
Thy painter, Fancy, hath not force To show how sweet it is to be! Thy witching dream And pictured scheme To match the fact still want the power ; Thy promise brave From birth to grave Life’s bloom may beggar in an hour.
Ask and receive, — ’t is sweetly said ; Yet what to plead for know I not; For Wish is worsted, Hope o’ersped, And aye to thanks returns my thought. lf I would pray, I’ve naught to say But this, that God may be God still, For Him to live Is still to give, And sweeter than my wish His will.
O wealth of life beyond all bound! Eternity each moment given ! What plummet may the Present sound ? Who promises a future heaven ? Or glad, or grieved, Oppressed, relieved, 170
ALL’S WELL
In blackest night, or brightest day, Still pours the flood Of golden good,
And more than heart-full fills me aye.
My wealth is common ; I possess No petty province, but the whole; What’s mine alone is mine far less Than treasure shared by every soul. Talk not of store Millions or more, — Of values which the purse may hold, — But this divine ! I own the mine Whose grains outweigh a planet’s gold.
I have a stake in every star, In every beam that fills the day; All hearts of men my coffers are, My ores arterial tides convey ; The fields, the skies, The sweet replies Of thought to thought are my gold-dust, — The oaks, the brooks, And speaking looks Of lovers’ faith and friendship’s trust. 171
DAVID ATWOOD WASSON
Life’s youngest tides joy-brimming flow | For him who lives above all years, Who all-immortal makes the Now, And is not ta’en in Time’s arrears ; His life ’s a hymn The seraphim Might hark to hear or help to sing, And to his soul The boundless whole Its bounty all doth daily bring.
‘¢ All time is mine,” the sky-soul saith ; «The wealth I am, must thou become ; Richer and richer, breath by breath, — Immortal gain, immortal room ! ” And since all his Mine also is, Life’s gift outruns my fancies far, And drowns the dream In larger stream, | As morning drinks the morning-star.
LOVE AGAINST LOVE
As unto blowing roses summer dews,
Or morning’s amber to the tree-top choirs, 172
So to my bosom are the beams that use
ROYALTY
To rain on me from eyes that love inspires.
Your love, — vouchsafe it, royal-hearted few,
And I will set no common price thereon,
O, I will keep, as heaven his holy blue,
Or night her diamonds, that dear treasure won.
But aught of inward faith must I forego,
Or miss one drop from truth’s baptismal hand,
Think poorer thoughts, pray cheaper prayers, and grow
Less worthy trust, to meet your heart’s demand, —
Farewell! Your wish I for your sake deny:
Rebel to love, in truth to love, am I.
ROYALTY
TuHaT regal soul I reverence, in whose eyes
Sufficeth not all worth the city knows
To pay that debt which his own heart he owes ;
For less than level to his bosom rise
The low crowd’s heaven and stars: above their skies
Runneth the road his daily feet have pressed ;
A loftier heaven he beareth in his breast,
And o’er the summits of achieving hies 173
“? “~~. ~ i, - hs
DAVID ATWOOD WASSON
With ne’er a thought of merit or of meed ; Choosing divinest labors through a pride
Of soul, that holdeth appetite to feed
Ever on angel-herbage, nought beside ;
Nor praises more himself for hero-deed
Than stones for weight, or open seas for tide.
174
Svonep Henry Morse
TWO MOODS
I.
“ THE Truth shall bind,” quoth he ; ‘‘ No fetter else. Oh! free
My mind shall rove, and bring
Me home on buoyant wing
The boldest thought that flies : Blest freedom else unknown.
All shorn the soul denies
All beauty thus to own.”
II.
Then spoke a voice in gentler strain, Yet chanting still the high refrain : ‘“¢ Nor rove will I to clip the wing Of thoughts that fly and gaily sing. Home, home [ hie, all free to list The silent song I ne’er resist.”
175
SYDNEY HENRY MORSE
OPEN SECRET
Nor through Nature shineth Godhead fair and free ;
’"T is the Heart divineth What the God must be.
Nature all concealing, Dim her outer light,
Finite forms revealing, Not the infinite.
All the Godhead’s planning Not with striving learn — Inner eye — Heart scanning —
Sees the God-bush burn.
SUNDERED
I CHALLENGE not the oracle That drove you from my board: I bow before the dark decree That scatters as I hoard. 176
SUNDERED
Ye vanished like the sailing ships That ride far out at sea:
I murmur, as your farewell dies, And your forms float from me.
Ah! ties are sundered in this hour, No tide of fortune rare
Shall bring me hearts I owned before, And my love’s loss repair.
When voyagers make a foreign port, And leave their precious prize,
Returning home, they bear for freight A bartered merchandise.
Alas! when ye come back to me, And come not as of yore,
But with your alien wealth and peace, Can we be lovers more ?
I gave you up to go your ways, O you whom I adored!
Love hath no ties but Destiny Shall cut them with a sword.
177
SYDNEY HENRY MORSE
a a cl —E re
TILL LOVE BE WHOLE
Tue soul I dwell within Forgets my load of sin, And circles me With amorous glee, To win my first faint smile Of love that bodes no guile ; — Unfolds my heart the while, And sets me free.
Delights she to surprise
Me with some thought that hies To heaven straightway : Then all the day
I wander o’er the earth,
And find not half its worth ;
Yet lose I not my mirth, And pray, and pray.
Oh! I am precious seed Thus planted for her meed : My offish ways And long delays 178
THE WAY
She takes no notice of,
But steadily doth move
Upon my heart with love, Nor doubt displays.
Now I shall make return, And my love’s taper burn For my good soul, As towards the goal My steps I hourly bend ; And to the flame yet lend Increase, far to the end, Till love be whole?
THE WAY
Tuey find the way who linger where The soul finds fullest life ;
The battle brave is carried on
By all who wait, and waiting, dare Deem each day’s least that’s fitly done A victory worthy to be won,
Nor seek their gain with strife.
179
SYDNEY HENRY MORSE
W AIFS
GirRD thee, gird thee, soldier strong! Gird thee with the hate of wrong, — Gird thee with a love that smites Down the hate of him who fights ! Victory be his as thine,
Soldier strong, whose face doth shine!
Erring world, sweet Charity Veileth all thy sins that be: She forgives e’en darkest crime, She, with vision reaching far, Sees the land whose glories are Fair fulfilments of all time.
God wists not to hear thee pray, When thou ’st somewhat wise to say ; Finite wisdom blocks the way.
Better far thou speak’st no word — Only let thy heart be heard.
SERVICE
FRET not that the day is gone, And thy task is still undone. 180
SERVICE
’T was not thine, it seems, at all: Near to thee it chanced to fall, Close enough to stir thy brain, And to vex thy heart in vain. Somewhere, in a nook forlorn, Yesterday a babe was born:
He shall do thy waiting task ;
All thy questions he shall ask, And the answers will be given, Whispered clearly out of heaven. His shall be no stumbling feet, Failing where they should be fleet ; He shall hold no broken clue ; Friends shall unto him be true ; Men shall love him; falsehood’s aim Shall not shatter his good name. Day shall nerve his arm with light, Slumber soothe him all the night ; Summer’s peace and winter’s storm Help him all his will perform.
"Tis enough of joy for thee
His high service to foresee.
181
SYDNEY HENRY MORSE
THE VICTORY
To do the tasks of life, and be not lost ; To mingle, yet dwell apart ;
To be by roughest seas how rudely tossed, Yet bate no jot of heart;
To hold thy course among the heavenly stars, Yet dwell upon the earth ;
To stand behind Fate’s firm-laid prison bare) Yet win all Freedom’s worth !
182
Hohn Geiss BLEST SPIRIT OF MY LIFE
BLEsT spirit of my life, oh, stay ! Let not this rapture vanish soon ;
For thus my earth is snatched away, And lifted into heaven’s noon.
How clear the vision! how serene
The air through which my words aspire! My narrow clay they leave to glean
In fields of infinite desire.
Oh, greatest grief of many days, It is that thou, my heaven, art
So far, so faintly come the rays That kindle heaven in my heart.
To-day a prisoner on leave Am 1: must I to bounds return ? Then make me blest that I can grieve,
And satisfied that I can yearn. 183
JOHN WEISS
Thou Light, that makest lesser lights _
To shine, burn up my cloudy sky ! To morning change my frequent nights ; Drop planets to me from on high.
My hope is wide to take them in,
Deeper than sight do I adore!
I am a little sail to win
In thy great breath my native shore.
SAADI’S THINKING
SucH a noon as Thought has made! In my soul no spot of shade ;
Least and greatest lying plain, Hope of mystery was vain.
Like a savage creature’s scent To its game my daylight went ; Water hid beneath the sod Sooner ’scapes divining rod.
All day staring like a noon Sight must hie to shelter soon ; From the drooping lid must creep Forth the outer edge of sleep.
184
SAADI’S THINKING
As I lose my perfect gaze,
And the headlands gather haze, Blushes through the clearness creep, Showing it is also deep.
And my thought returns to me, Like the diver from a sea, Purpled with the shells he had, — Tired and faint, but purple-clad.
Falls to dreaming all the sky, Stirred by thoughts less palpably, — Noontide broken into stars,
Vision checked by twilight bars.
Would you mystery receive,
And in miracle believe,
Wading out until some sea
Lifts the heart and sets it free, —
Then let Thought be shod with air, Put on daylight for its wear — Colorless and limpid laws:
In them stars and twilights pause.
185
i a = ‘ i 7 ‘ 4 .
JOHN WEISS
MY TWO QUESTS
ue
Ox, many trees watch East,
And many trees ensnare the West, — Those to drip with dawning golden, These to keep the sunsets holden ; Yet of all I love them least
That fail to nod above my quest.
Oh, many hills watch North,
And many in the South are faint, — These to hold aloft the clearness, These to bear away the nearness ; Yet to all I wander loth,
To all save those my longings paint.
Oh, many flowers make sweet,
In many autumn fields, the grass.
Some to old resorts cajole me,
New surprises some would dole me;
None of them can draw my feet,
Save those which smile to see her pass. 186
MY TWO QUESTS ——————————
Oh, many paths invite
To beauties of the sky and land.
East and West the earth is tender, North and South bend bows of splendor ; All the paths to me are trite,
Save one that leads me to her hand.
Oh, many days are born,
Both sweet and grave within them stir ; Perfect climes that have for ages
Been to kings and queens the pages ; But for all I have a scorn,
Save those which leap at sight of her.
Oh, many landscapes wait,
Tongue-tied, till thoughts release their word ; Thoughts like champions that travel, Captives loose and charms unravel :
Best endowed of all but prate
Unless her mood has one preferred.
Il.
Days I’ve waited for my friend ; Near yet absent waited He: Time and chance did not attend,
Nor a look to set me free. 187
JOHN WEISS
Not a meeting of the eyes, Nor a touch of hands that groped Through each hour’s dull enterprise Toward the thrill for which we hoped.
Wainscoted with care the walls Are past which I feel my way.
Dark of absence deeper falls ; Still I fumble, still I stay.
At a sudden turn, when least We surmised our hearts were near, All the doubt, the strangeness, ceased ; In a moment, dazzling clear.
Solid walls were built of mist, And our rapture burnt them down ; And the flash by which we kissed Seemed a sun for all the town,
Seemed to kindle every hearth,
To consume each doubt and care, Blaze along the common path,
No reserve or dread to spare.
Thoughts that struggled from the slime, Nile-bred forms to gain their feet, 188
MY TWO QUESTS
Suited with their perfect rhyme, Trooping came along the street ;
And I breathed them from the air ; Saw them, armored by sunbeams,
Point their shafts against my care, Heard them shattering my dreams.
All the house their carol shook, To my soul their joy gave wing, Gave my sight an upward look, Opened it like flowers in spring ; Into perfume seemed to burst, And to offer up my heart, Changing into best my worst, Into comfort every smart.
Lightly then my straining mind Threw its ladder to the sky,
Upward ran the morn to find, See its surf run freshening by.
Gladness was the friend I found, Sense of something clear and still ; As the earth in light is drowned, And in space the highest hill. 189
JOHN WEISS
All my prose to song sublimed, All my waiting to this smile,
Hung, without a flutter, rhymed In the heaven’s perfect style.
‘Did my life indeed ascend, Or some life sink down to me? All I know, it was my Friend: Name it? shape it? Let that be.
METHOD
CENTRAL axis, pole of pole,
Central ark and goal of goal,
Worship, to whose sovereign end
All the spirit’s uses tend.
Taught of her high mystery,
Perfect will the man-child be.
Not with sorrow, not with moan
Comes the soul unto her own ;
Not with sounding steps of thunder,
Not with flaming looks of fire,
But with calm delight and wonder,
Simple hope and sweet desire.
Then, through all the motions stealing 190
Mey,
io y
METHOD
“Of the initia existence, u; | Ever lifting, soothing, healing, — ve: e ~ Love attunes each thought and feeling Unto patience and peu
?
> +o e ‘ ad? ‘ 4 {
Thomas GAeniworth Bigqginson
THE THINGS I MISS
AN easy thing, O Power Divine,
To thank Thee for these gifts of Thine ! For summer’s sunshine, winter’s snow, For hearts that kindle, thoughts that glow. But when shall I attain to this, —
To thank Thee for the things I miss?
For all young Fancy’s early gleams,
The dreamed-of joys that still are dreams, Hopes unfulfilled, and pleasures known Through others’ fortunes, not my own, And blessings seen that are not given, And never will be, this side heaven.
Had I too shared the joys I see,
Would there have been a heaven for me? Could I have felt Thy presence near, Had I possessed what I held dear?
My deepest fortune, highest bliss,
Have grown perchance from things I miss. 192
HEIRS OF TIME
Sometimes there comes an hour of calm; Grief turns to blessing, pain to balm ;
A Power that works above my will
Still leads me onward, upward still. And then my heart attains to this, — To thank Thee for the things I miss.
HEIRS OF TIME
From street and square, from hill and glen Of this vast world beyond my door,
I hear the tread of marching men,
The patient armies of the poor.
The halo of the city’s lamps
Hangs, a vast torchlight, in the air ;
I watch it through the evening damps : The masters of the world are there.
Not ermine-clad or clothed in state, Their title-deeds not yet made plain ; But waking early, toiling late,
The heirs of all the earth remain.
_ Some day, by laws as fixed and fair As guide the planets in their sweep, 193
THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON)
The children of each outcast heir The harvest-fruits of time shall reap.
The peasant brain shall yet be wise,
The untamed pulse grow calm and still; The blind shall see, the lowly rise,
And work in peace Time’s wondrous will. Some day, without a trumpet’s call,
This news will o’er the world be blown: “¢ The heritage comes back to all!
The myriad monarchs take their own ! ”
A JAR OF ROSE-LEAVES
Myrtap roses fade unheeded,
Yet no note of grief is needed ; When the ruder breezes tear them, Sung or songless, we can spare them. But the choicest petals are
Shrined in some deep Orient jar, Rich without and sweet within, Where we cast the rose-leaves in.
Life has jars of costlier price Framed to hold our memories. 194
A JAR OF ROSE-LEAVES
There we treasure baby smiles, Boyish exploits, girlish wiles,
All that made our early days Sweeter than these trodden ways Where the Fates our fortunes spin : Memory, toss the rose-leaves in !
What the jar holds, that shall stay ; Time steals all the rest away.
Cast in love’s first stolen word,
Bliss when uttered, bliss when heard ; Maiden’s looks of shy surprise ; Glances from a hero’s eyes ;
Palms we risked our souls to win: Memory, fling the rose-leaves in !
Now more sombre and more slow Let the incantation grow! Cast in shreds of rapture brief, Subtle links ’twixt hope and grief ; - Vagrant fancy’s dangerous toys ; Covert dreams, narcotic joys Flavored with the taste of sin: Memory, pour the rose-leaves in !
Quit that borderland of pain! Cast in thoughts of nobler vein, 195
THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON
Magic gifts of human breath, Mysteries of birth and death.
What if all this web of change
But prepare for scenes more strange ; If to die be to begin ?
Memory, heap the rose-leaves in !
ODE TO A BUTTERFLY
TuHovu spark of life that wavest wings of gold, Thou songless wanderer ’mid the songful birds, With Nature’s secrets in thy tints unrolled Through gorgeous cipher, past the reach of words, Yet dear to every child In glad pursuit beguiled, Living his unspoiled days ’mid flowers and flocks and herds !
Thou winged blossom, liberated thing,
What secret tie binds thee to other flowers,
Still held within the garden’s fostering ?
Will they too soar with the completed hours, Take flight, and be like thee Irrevocably free,
Hovering at will o’er their parental bowers ?
196
ODE TO A BUTTERFLY
Or is thy lustre drawn from heavenly hues, — A sumptuous drifting fragment of the sky, Caught when the sunset its last glance imbues With sudden splendor, and the treetops high Grasp that swift blazonry, Then lend those tints to thee, On thee to float a few short hours, and die?
Birds have their nests; they rear their eager young, And flit on errands all the livelong day ; Each fieldmouse keeps the homestead whence it sprung ; But thou art Nature’s freeman, — free to stray Unfettered through the wood, Sucking thine airy food, The sweetness spiced on every blossomed spray.
The garden one wide banquet spreads for thee,
O daintiest reveller of the joyous earth!
One drop of honey gives satiety ;
A second draught would drug thee past all mirth. Thy feast no orgy shows ; Thy calm eyes never close,
Thou soberest sprite to which the sun gives birth.
197
THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON
And yet the soul of man upon thy wings Forever soars in aspiration; thou His emblem of the new career that springs When death’s arrest bids all his spirit bow. He seeks his hope in thee Of immortality. Symbol of life, me with such faith endow!
198
George Shepard Burleigh
DARE AND KNOW
Tue truths we cannot win are fruit forbidden,
That knowledge only is, by proof not ours,
Which lies beyond the measure of our powers :
Not by God’s grudging are our natures chidden,
His hidden things for daring search are hidden:
The cloudy darkness that around him lowers
Burns only with his glory, and the dowers
Of Hero-hearts who have gone up and ridden
The storm like eagles ! TE the lightning singe
The intrepid wing, ’t is but the burning kiss
Of Victory in Espousal, — the keen bliss
Whose rapturous thrill might make the coward cringe !
He who aloft on Rood-nails hung our crown
Smiles when with bleeding hands we climb and pluck it down !
THE IDEAL WINS
THOUGH hunger sharpens in the dream of food, And thirst burns fiercer for the visioned brook, 199
GEORGE SHEPARD BURLEIGH
Our souls are drawn the way our longings look,
And our ideal good is actual good.
The heavens we win are more than we pursued ;
For the great Dream has cheapened the small nook
That once for all the rounded world we took,
And our sect sinks in boundless Brotherhood.
By noble climbing, though the heavens recede,
Broader expands the horizon’s girdling wall ;
Through misty doubts we reach the sunnier creed,
And, nearer heaven, see earth a fairer ball ;
And souls that soar beyond their simple need,
To grasp the highest, are made free of all!
IMMANUEL
Tue Law which spheres the hugest sun That blazes in the deeps of blue,
And binds unnumbered worlds in one, So rounds the tiniest drop of dew.
The God who sowed the midnight gloom With stars that blossom evermore, Still lights the lowliest lily-bloom That nestles by the cottage door. 200
ee i Sis ae * ;.% ’
IMMANUEL
An atom of the self-same fire That burned in Zoroaster’s soul, Kindles the humblest heart’s desire, : And beacons our eternal goal.
What Jesus felt, what Moses saw On Sinai, on Gennesaret,
Love’s boundless glow, the lightning Law, Our hearts have known, our vision met.
For God in every nature folds The perfect future of its kind ; The eternal love thy bosom holds, And thrills thy thought the Eternal Mind.
Oh, not in overweening pride, But calm in holy trust alone, Put every alien law aside, And walk serenely by thy own.
Cathayan clogs, Judean creeds, Deform and fetter limb and soul ;
Life only from within proceeds, Evolving one harmonious whole.
201
<a ee eee 5 . oat . A
GEORGE SHEPARD BURLEIGH
The heart, self-centred, that alone - Obeys what God within it bids,
Holds firmly its inviolate throne As Andes and the Pyramids.
OUR BIRTHRIGHT
As children of the Infinite Soul Our Birthright is the boundless whole, Won truth by truth while endless ages roll.
Swift Fancy’s wing would flag in flight To reach the depth, the breadth, and height Of the vast wealth that waits our growing sight :
High truths which have not yet been dreamed, Realities of all that seemed Best in the best of what we hoped and deemed :
Such freedom under natural law As not the fabled Eden saw, So large and calm, and full of blissful awe :
And love that cannot fail to flow, Warm as the sun and white as snow, Through flesh and soul that sweet as lilies grow: 202
OUR BIRTHRIGHT
With knowledge that on sea and land And air shall lay familiar hand, And weigh the star-dust on creation’s strand ;
And wisdom ever more divine, Of clustered knowledge the red wine, Which holds the world dissolved and crystalline.
Peace over all in skyey calm Shall weave her olive with the palm Of victory, and steep the earth in balm.
A thousand years the soul shall climb To guess what more of wealth sublime Waits for a conqueror in the depths of time.
The fiends who guard it, hunger-gnawed, Are Doubt and Fear and ancient Fraud, And grey old Use by whom the world is awed.
But heralds of the better day Beckon us on, and point the way, Where earnest seeking never goes astray.
No peril daunts the Brave; he speeds Across the wreck of older creeds, And crownless gods cast down among the weeds. 203
GEORGE SHEPARD BURLEIGH
Doubt dies beneath his lifted spear,. Fraud slinks away with breathless Fear, And grey old Use shrieks in his heedless ear.
Wide gape these parasites aghast As in the temples of the Past He sets the ark of living Godhood fast ;
And hollow gods, to whom they pledge Libations on their altar-ledge, Fall shattered down to bite the grunsel’s edge.
Well may ye deem that pain and loss Will haunt his walks, and murder toss On him the boding shadow of her cross.
But loss and pain will wear away The thick opacity of clay, And the cross lift him to the zone of day !
Far-seeking his imperial goal,
No fate can rob the earnest soul Of his great birthright in the boundless whole!
204
Gilliam Henry Puriess
THE SOUL
Wuart is this that stirs within, Loving goodness, hating sin, Always craving to be blest, Finding here below no rest?
Nought that charms the ear or eye Can its hunger satisfy ;
Active, restless, it would pierce Through the outward universe.
What is it? and whither? whence? This unsleeping, secret sense, Longing for its rest and food
In some hidden, untried good ?
’'T is the soul! Mysterious name ! Him it seeks from whom it came; It would, Mighty God, like thee, Holy, holy, holy be !
205
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WILLIAM HENRY FURNESS
EVENING
SLOWLY by thy hand unfurled, Down around the weary world Falls the darkness. Oh, how still Is the working of thy will!
Mighty Maker! Here am I, Work in me as silently ;
Veil the day’s distracting sights, Show me heaven’s eternal lights.
From the darkened sky come forth Countless stars. A wondrous birth! So may gleams of glory dart
From this dim abyss, my heart.
Living worlds to view be brought In the boundless realms of thought ; High and infinite desires,
Flashing like those upper fires.
Holy Truth, Eternal Right, Let them break upon my sight ; 206
EVENING
Let them shine, serene and still, And with light my being fill.
Thou, who dwellest there, I know, _ Dwellest here within me, too ; May the perfect love of God, Here, as there, be shed abroad.
Let my soul attunéd be
‘To the heavenly harmony,
Which, beyond the power of auntie Fills the Universe around.
207
Samuel Johnson
FOR DIVINE STRENGTH
FATHER, in thy mysterious presence kneeling, Fain would our souls feel all thy kindling love ;
For we are weak, and need some deep revealing Of trust, and strength, and calmness from above.
Lord, we have wandered far through doubt and
sorrow, : And thou hast made each step an onward one ;
And we will ever trust each unknown morrow, —
Thou wilt sustain us till its work is done.
In the heart’s depths a peace serene and holy Abides; and when pain seems to have its will,
Or we despair, O may that peace rise slowly, Stronger than agony, and we be still!
Now, Father, now, in thy dear presence kneeling, Our spirits yearn to feel thy kindling love ; Now make us strong, we need thy deep revealing
Of trust, and strength, and calmness from above. 208
INSPIRATION
INSPIRATION
Lire of Ages, richly poured, Love of God, unspent and free,
Flowing in the prophet’s word And the people’s liberty !
Never was to chosen race That unstinted tide confined ; Thine is every time and place, Fountain sweet of heart and mind!
Secret of the morning stars, Motion of the oldest hours,
Pledge through elemental wars Of the coming spirit’s powers !
Rolling planet, flaming sun, Stand in nobler man complete ; Prescient laws thine errands run, Frame the shrine for Godhead meet.
Homeward led, the wondering eye
Upward yearned in joy or awe, 209
SAMUEL JOHNSON
Found the love that waited nigh, Guidance of thy guardian law.
In the touch of earth it thrilled ; Down from mystic skies it burned ; Right obeyed and passion stilled Its eternal gladness earned.
Breathing in the thinker’s creed, Pulsing in the hero’s blood,
Nerving simplest thought and deed, Freshening time with truth and good,
Consecrating art and song, Holy book and pilgrim track, Hurling floods of tyrant wrong From the sacred limits back, —
Life of Ages, richly poured, Love of God, unspent and free, Flow still in the Prophet’s word And the People’s liberty !
Samuel Donatellow
LOOKING UNTO GOD
** Who sees God’s hand in all things, and all things in God’s hand.”
I LOOK to thee in every need, And never look in vain ; I feel thy touch, Eternal Love! And all is well again. The thought of thee is mightier far