A Hidden Life and Other Poems Part 15

Clasp my hand closer yet, my child,-- For we have far to roam, Climbing and climbing, till we reach Our Heavenly Father's home.

I KNOW WHAT BEAUTY IS.

I know what beauty is, for Thou Hast set the world within my heart; Its glory from me will not part; I never loved it more than now.

I know the Sabbath afternoon: The light lies sleeping on the graves; Against the sky the poplar waves; The river plays a Sabbath tune.

Ah, know I not the spring's snow-bell?

The summer woods at close of even?

Autumn, when earth dies into heaven, And winter's storms, I know them well.

I know the rapture music brings, The power that dwells in ordered tones, A living voice that loves and moans, And speaks unutterable things.

Consenting beauties in a whole; The living eye, the imperial head, The gait of inward music bred, The woman form, a radiant soul.

And splendours all unspoken bide Within the ken of spirit's eye; And many a glory saileth by, Borne on the G.o.dhead's living tide.

But I leave all, thou man of woe!

Put off my shoes, and come to Thee; Thou art most beautiful to me; More wonderful than all I know.

As child forsakes his favourite toy, His sisters' sport, his wild bird's nest; And climbing to his mother's breast, Enjoys yet more his former joy--

I lose to find. On forehead wide The jewels tenfold light afford: So, gathered round thy glory, Lord, All beauty else is glorified.

I WOULD I WERE A CHILD.

I would I were a child, That I might look, and laugh, and say, My Father!

And follow Thee with running feet, or rather Be led thus through the wild.

How I would hold thy hand!

My glad eyes often to thy glory lifting, Which casts all beauteous shadows, ever shifting, Over this sea and land.

If a dark thing came near, I would but creep within thy mantle's folding, Shut my eyes close, thy hand yet faster holding, And so forget my fear.

O soul, O soul, rejoice!

Thou art G.o.d's child indeed, for all thy sinning; A trembling child, yet his, and worth the winning With gentle eyes and voice.

The words like echoes flow.

They are too good; mine I can call them never; Such water drinking once, I should feel ever As I had drunk but now.

And yet He said it so; 'Twas He who taught our child-lips to say, Father!

Like the poor youth He told of, that did gather His goods to him, and go.

Ah! Thou dost lead me, G.o.d; But it is dark; no stars; the way is dreary; Almost I sleep, I am so very weary Upon this rough hill-road.

_Almost_! Nay, I _do_ sleep.

There is no darkness save in this my dreaming; Thy Fatherhood above, around, is beaming; Thy hand my hand doth keep.

This torpor one sun-gleam Would break. My soul hath wandered into sleeping; Dream-shades oppress; I call to Thee with weeping, Wake me from this my dream.

And as a man doth say, Lo! I do dream, yet trembleth as he dreameth; While dim and dream-like his true history seemeth, Lost in the perished day;

(For heavy, heavy night Long hours denies the day) so this dull sorrow Upon my heart, but half believes a morrow Will ever bring thy light.

G.o.d, art Thou in the room?

Come near my bed; oh! draw aside the curtain; A child's heart would say _Father_, were it certain That it did not presume.

But if this dreary bond I may not break, help Thou thy helpless sleeper; Resting in Thee, my sleep will sink the deeper, All evil dreams beyond.

_Father!_ I dare at length.

My childhood, thy gift, all my claim in speaking; Sinful, yet hoping, I to Thee come, seeking Thy tenderness, my strength.

THE LOST SOUL.

Brothers, look there!

What! see ye nothing yet?

Knit your eyebrows close, and stare; Send your souls forth in the gaze, As my finger-point is set, Through the thick of the foggy air.

Beyond the air, you see the dark; (For the darkness hedges still our ways;) And beyond the dark, oh, lives away!

Dim and far down, surely you mark A huge world-heap of withered years Dropt from the boughs of eternity?

See ye not something lying there, Shapeless as a dumb despair, Yet a something that spirits can recognise With the vision dwelling in their eyes?

It hath the form of a man!

As a huge moss-rock in a valley green, When the light to freeze began, Thickening with crystals of dark between, Might look like a sleeping man.

What think ye it, brothers? I know it well.

I know by your eyes ye see it--tell.

'Tis a poor lost soul, alack!

It was alive some ages back; One that had wings and might have had eyes I think I have heard that he wrote a book; But he gathered his life up into a nook, And perished amid his own mysteries, Which choked him, because he had not faith, But was proud in the midst of sayings dark Which G.o.d had charactered on his walls; And the light which burned up at intervals, To be spent in reading what G.o.d saith, He lazily trimmed it to a spark, And then it went out, and his soul was dark.

Is there aught between thee and me, Soul, that art lying there?

Is any life yet left in thee, So that thou couldst but spare A word to reveal the mystery Of the banished from light and air?

Alas, O soul! thou wert once As the soul that cries to thee!

Thou hadst thy place in the mystic dance From the doors of the far eternity, Issuing still with feet that glance To the music of the free!

Alas! O soul, to think That thou wert made like me!

With a heart for love, and a thirst to drink From the wells that feed the sea!