A Hidden Life and Other Poems Part 26

But if I turn away and write, Then sudden look around, I almost tremble; tall and white She stands upon the ground.

In long night-gown, a tiny ghost, She stands unmoving there; Or if she moves, my wits were lost To meet her on the stair!

O Elfie, make no haste to lose Thy lack of conscious sense; Thou hast the best gift I could choose, A G.o.d-like confidence.

THE THANK OFFERING.

My little child receives my gift, A simple piece of bread; But to her mouth she doth not lift The love in bread conveyed, Till on my lips, unerring, swift, The morsel first is laid.

This is her grace before her food, This her libation poured; Uplift, like offering Aaron good Heaved up unto the Lord; More riches in the thanks than could A thousand gifts afford!

My Father, every gift of thine, Teach me to lift to Thee; Not else know I the love divine, With which it comes to me; Not else the tenfold gift is mine Of taking thankfully.

Yea, all my being I would lift, An offering of me; Then only truly mine the gift, When so received by Thee; Then shall I go, rejoicing, swift, Through thine Eternity.

THE BURNT OFFERING.

Is there a man on earth, who, every night, When the day hath exhausted each strong limb, Lays him upon his bed in chamber dim, And his heart straightway trembling with delight, Begins to burn up towards the vaulted height Of the great peace that overshadows him?

Like flakes of fire his thoughts within him swim, Till all his soul is radiant, blazing bright.

The great earth under him an altar is, Upon whose top a sacrifice he lies, Burning to G.o.d up through the nightly skies, Whose love, warm-brooding o'er him, kindled his; Until his flaming thoughts, consumed, expire, Sleep's ashes covering the yet glowing fire.

FOUR SONNETS

Inscribed to S.F.S., because the second is about her father.

I.

They say that lonely sorrows do not chance.

I think it true, and that the cause I know: A sorrow glideth in a funeral show Easier than if it broke into a dance.

But I think too, that joy doth joy enhance As often as an added grief brings low; And if keen-eyed to see the flowers that grow, As keen of nerve to feel the thorns that lance The foot that must walk naked in one way-- Blest by the lily, white from toils and fears, Oftener than wounded by the thistle-spears, We should walk upright, bold, and earnest-gay.

I'll tell you how it fared with me one day After noon in a world, so-called, of tears.

II.

I went to listen to my teacher friend.

O Friend above, thanks for the friend below!

Who having been made wise, deep things to know, With brooding spirit over them doth bend, Until they waken words, as wings, to send Their seeds far forth, seeking a place to grow.

The lesson past, with quiet foot I go, And towards his silent room, expectant wend, Seeking a blessing, even leave to dwell For some eternal minutes in his eyes.

And he smiled on me in his loving wise; His hand spoke friendship, satisfied me well; My presence was some pleasure, I could tell.

Then forth we went beneath the smoky skies.

III.

I, strengthened, left him. Next in a close place, Mid houses crowded, dingy, barred, and high, Where men live not except to sell and buy, To me, leaving a doorway, came a grace.

(Surely from heaven she came, though all that race Walketh on human feet beneath the sky.) I, going on, beheld not who was nigh, When a sweet girl looked up into my face With earnest eyes, most maidenly sedate-- Looked up to me, as I to him did look: 'Twas much to me whom sometimes men mistook.

She asked me where we dwelt, that she might wait Upon us there. I told her, and elate, Went on my way to seek another nook.

IV.

And there I found him whom I went to find, A man of n.o.ble make and head uplift, Of equal carriage, Nature's bounteous gift; For in no shelter had his generous mind Grown flowers that need the winds, rough not unkind.

The joiner's bench taught him, with judgment swift, Seen things to fashion, unseen things to sift; From all his face a living soul outshined, Telling of strength and inward quietude; His great hand shook mine greatly, and his eyes Looked straight in mine with spiritual replies: I left him, rich with overflowing good.

Such joys within two hours of happy mood, Met me beneath the everlasting skies.

SONNET.

(Exodus x.x.xiii. 18-23.)

"I do beseech Thee, G.o.d, show me thy face."

"Come up to me in Sinai on the morn: Thou shalt behold as much as may be borne."

And Moses on a rock stood lone in s.p.a.ce.

From Sinai's top, the vaporous, thunderous place, G.o.d pa.s.sed in clouds, an earthly garment worn To hide, and thus reveal. In love, not scorn, He put him in a cleft in the rock's base, Covered him with his hand, his eyes to screen, Then pa.s.sed, and showed his back through mists of years.

Ah, Moses! had He turned, and hadst thou seen The pale face crowned with thorns, baptized with tears, The eyes of the true man, by men belied, Thou hadst beheld G.o.d's face, and straightway died.

EIGHTEEN SONNETS,

About Jesus.

I.

If Thou hadst been a sculptor, what a race Of forms divine had ever preached to men!

Lo, I behold thy brow, all glorious then, (Its reflex dawning on the statue's face) Bringing its Thought to birth in human grace, The soul of the grand form, upstarting, when Thou openest thus thy mysteries to our ken, Striking a marble window through blind s.p.a.ce.

But G.o.d, who mouldeth in life-plastic clay, Flashing his thoughts from men with living eyes, Not from still marble forms, changeless alway, Breathed forth his human self in human guise: Thou didst appear, walking unknown abroad, The son of man, the human, subject G.o.d.

II.