Freedom, Truth And Beauty Part 12

What less could fitly crown Omnipotence Than Truth, the focus of all rays in Good?

Lo! there it shines upon the Holy Rood, Breaking through clouds, a-ma.s.sing dark and dense From countless ages, Cains to Brotherhood-- With rays of pardon for the World's offense.

OUR LORD'S LAST PRAYER

"Forgive them, Sire! They know not what they do."-- Ah, Christ! how at that face to face G.o.d-plea, The Demon and his legions, mocking thee With every generation, brought to view, Flashed with dismay, and, boltless lightening through The ages, thunder down Eternity, 'Till faint as the sound in sh.e.l.ls, far from the sea; For that thy prayer would be vouchsafed, they knew.

All grandeurs, gathered as a dazzling crown For thee, in barter for thy knee's least bend, The Demon dashed to fragments to Time's end.

There, born anew in spirit, we look down And, in the ocean of thy prayer, Amen'd, See but earth's monsters, with the demons drown.

THOUGHT IS TRUTH'S ECHO

Thought is truth's echo--not her glorious eyes Beholding G.o.d, nor her white arms of light, Lifted in worship. Following truth, our flight At highest range is where our echo dies.

Oh all your power and beauty, earth and skys!

And, Soul and Mind! your Beauty and your Might-- Truth gathers in one flash and, catching sight Of G.o.d, lifts high in love's full sacrifice.

Twixt Truth and Thought, what Truth is oft is s.p.a.ce Wherein, with intuition for her wing, The soul mounts. It is there I hear her sing: "Lo, Truth, so swift aloft, Thought dies in chase, Turns earthward, and the gifts her white arms bring, Are outshone by G.o.d's glory in her face!"

HEAVEN

Ah, what is Heaven? Such Glory that Sun-light Seems darkness, and Ma.s.s Music, sh.e.l.l-shut sound.

What we call senses here, there so abound, The soul appears a broadening heaven in flight, Feathered and downed with all the stars, whose white Is all hues mingled. Oh, the awe profound!

For every moment there, new Heavens astound The myriad senses, with G.o.d's Love and Might.

If "Holy, Holy, Holy, Evermore?"

Be the one chant of angel and of Saint Before the Throne, it is their gaspings faint Between their transports to high Heavens from lower; For, what is love's eternal Firmament But Heaven on Heaven, that we may ceaseless soar?

HUMILITY

Was not humility the Earthward stair From highest Heaven, by which G.o.d came to men, To show the way aloft to human ken?

Ah, by what other pa.s.s, are men to fare Through mist and cloud, except the path, aflare With his blest steps from Heaven, and up again?

Steps, not from star to star, but fen to fen, That all might follow and not one despair!

Oh, steps of Love! Could we reach with our eyes Their fulgence, we would shrink back with dismay; For, though 'tis through the world's contempt move they-- Hark! How the hidden choirs of countless skies Chant at all heights: "Lo, G.o.d comes by this way, And makes world-wide, His stair to Paradise!"

THE NIGHT OF MYSTERIES

A cataract of stars, which, with each fall Broadens and brightens, rapturing the sight Of angel hosts, that view it from the height Of knowledge of G.o.d's love for one and all His creatures--and not darkness to appal The spirit by the quench of every light, For which G.o.d grants it vision--is the night Of Life's strange mysteries, both great and small.

Oh cataracts, beyond the angels' count, Pause and shine pendant over every deep Of heart, mind, spirit! Lo! how down they sweep To basic Good where, ma.s.sing, they remount, Till, mid G.o.d's "Many Mansions," high they leap, Forming forever, joy's most splendent fount!

WHAT THE POETS SHOW

When, at G.o.d's fiat, Light flashed forth, the beam Evolved a million pigments, as it sped To every nature. Now, of all its spread, What shaft so glorious as the poet's dream Which, mote and ma.s.s, reflects the Will Supreme That life is progress, and by flight, or tread, It circles G.o.d-ward up, till perfected!

For, harboring meaner thought were to blaspheme.

What, if the world be chaos where it sins, Race feuds, Creed hatreds, falsehoods gross, deceit, Intrigue and greed, form swirling, blinding sleet?

Honor and Truth, though buried to their chins, Look up and smile; for, though the storms still beat, The poets show 'tis Spring, not Winter, wins.

THE SOUL'S ASCENSION

Not mine the night that creeps beneath Life's sea, Or lurks within Hope's ruins, sunk below The desert, or the stagnant pool--oh, no!

But night that mounts the heavens, till it is free Where stars, prefiguring all things that be Obscure on earth, catch sight of G.o.d and glow, And golden shadows large and larger grow, Cast by Gift-bearers to Humanity.

Oh, once the cold of all the unsunn'd s.p.a.ce Was in my reptile life of soul, wing-bound; But now, soul-free, what warmth from stars all round!

'Tis not by strength of mine, Lord, but thy grace, My soul soars from the depths of sea, or ground, Till, at star-heights, it meets Thee, face to face!

LYRIC TRANSPORT

What but the spirit's ladder to G.o.d's throne Is beauty? Oh, from rung to rung to climb, Till faint becomes the azure's anthem chime Of planets, mult.i.tudinous, or lone, And Inspiration, drunk with fragrance, blown From G.o.d's rare, inmost garden, wall'd from Time, Sets free the Sonnet with is wings of rhyme To carry down the transport, upward known!

Mine is no swaying ladder, like he sea's, Whose rounds of rollers, raised above Sun-rise, Lean not on Heaven, hence shattered lie at noon; For 'tis set firmly on the verities, Which form G.o.d's throne. Ah, there, what joy, my prize!

Would that I had a dove for every boon!