Poems by Christina Georgina Rossetti Part 31

BY THE WATERS OF BABYLON.

B.C. 570.

Here, where I dwell, I waste to skin and bone; The curse is come upon me, and I waste In penal torment powerless to atone.

The curse is come on me, which makes no haste And doth not tarry, crushing both the proud Hard man and him the sinner double-faced.

Look not upon me, for my soul is bowed Within me, as my body in this mire; My soul crawls dumb-struck, sore bestead and cowed As Sodom and Gomorrah scourged by fire, As Jericho before G.o.d's trumpet-peal, So we the elect ones perish in His ire.

Vainly we gird on sackcloth, vainly kneel With famished faces toward Jerusalem: His heart is shut against us not to feel, His ears against our cry He shutteth them, His hand He shorteneth that He will not save, His law is loud against us to condemn: And we, as unclean bodies in the grave Inheriting corruption and the dark, Are outcast from His presence which we crave.

Our Mercy hath departed from His Ark, Our Glory hath departed from His rest, Our Shield hath left us naked as a mark Unto all pitiless eyes made manifest.

Our very Father hath forsaken us, Our G.o.d hath cast us from Him: we oppress'd Unto our foes are even marvellous, A hissing and a b.u.t.t for pointing hands, Whilst G.o.d Almighty hunts and grinds us thus; For He hath scattered us in alien lands, Our priests, our princes, our anointed king, And bound us hand and foot with brazen bands.

Here while I sit, my painful heart takes wing Home to the home-land I may see no more, Where milk and honey flow, where waters spring And fail not, where I dwelt in days of yore Under my fig-tree and my fruitful vine, There where my parents dwelt at ease before: Now strangers press the olives that are mine, Reap all the corners of my harvest-field, And make their fat hearts wanton with my wine; To them my trees, to them my gardens yield Their sweets and spices and their tender green, O'er them in noontide heat outspread their shield.

Yet these are they whose fathers had not been Housed with my dogs; whom hip and thigh we smote And with their blood washed their pollutions clean, Purging the land which spewed them from its throat; Their daughters took we for a pleasant prey, Choice tender ones on whom the fathers dote: Now they in turn have led our own away; Our daughters and our sisters and our wives Sore weeping as they weep who curse the day, To live, remote from help, dishonoured lives, Soothing their drunken masters with a song, Or dancing in their golden tinkling gyves-- Accurst if they remember through the long Estrangement of their exile, twice accursed If they forget and join the accursed throng.

How doth my heart that is so wrung not burst When I remember that my way was plain, And that G.o.d's candle lit me at the first, Whilst now I grope in darkness, grope in vain, Desiring but to find Him Who is lost, To find him once again, but once again!

His wrath came on us to the uttermost, His covenanted and most righteous wrath.

Yet this is He of Whom we made our boast, Who lit the Fiery Pillar in our path, Who swept the Red Sea dry before our feet, Who in His jealousy smote kings, and hath Sworn once to David: One shall fill thy seat Born of thy body, as the sun and moon 'Stablished for aye in sovereignty complete.

O Lord, remember David, and that soon.

The Glory hath departed, Ichabod!

Yet now, before our sun grow dark at noon, Before we come to nought beneath Thy rod, Before we go down quick into the pit, Remember us for good, O G.o.d, our G.o.d:-- Thy Name will I remember, praising it, Though Thou forget me, though Thou hide Thy face, And blot me from the Book which Thou hast writ; Thy Name will I remember in my praise And call to mind Thy faithfulness of old, Though as a weaver Thou cut off my days And end me as a tale ends that is told.

PARADISE.

Once in a dream I saw the flowers That bud and bloom in Paradise; More fair they are than waking eyes Have seen in all this world of ours.

And faint the perfume-bearing rose, And faint the lily on its stem, And faint the perfect violet Compared with them.

I heard the songs of Paradise: Each bird sat singing in his place; A tender song so full of grace It soared like incense to the skies.

Each bird sat singing to his mate Soft-cooing notes among the trees: The nightingale herself were cold To such as these.

I saw the fourfold River flow, And deep it was, with golden sand; It flowed between a mossy land With murmured music grave and low.

It hath refreshment for all thirst, For fainting spirits strength and rest; Earth holds not such a draught as this From east to west.

The Tree of Life stood budding there, Abundant with its twelvefold fruits; Eternal sap sustains its roots, Its shadowing branches fill the air.

Its leaves are healing for the world, Its fruit the hungry world can feed, Sweeter than honey to the taste, And balm indeed.

I saw the gate called Beautiful; And looked, but scarce could look within; I saw the golden streets begin, And outskirts of the gla.s.sy pool.

Oh harps, oh crowns of plenteous stars, O green palm branches many-leaved-- Eye hath not seen, nor ear hath heard, Nor heart conceived!

I hope to see these things again, But not as once in dreams by night; To see them with my very sight, And touch and handle and attain: To have all Heaven beneath my feet For narrow way that once they trod; To have my part with all the saints, And with my G.o.d.

"I WILL LIFT UP MINE EYES UNTO THE HILLS."

I am pale with sick desire, For my heart is far away From this world's fitful fire And this world's waning day; In a dream it overleaps A world of tedious ills To where the sunshine sleeps On the everlasting hills.-- Say the Saints: There Angels ease us Glorified and white.

They say: We rest in Jesus, Where is not day or night.

My soul saith: I have sought For a home that is not gained, I have spent yet nothing bought, Have laboured but not attained; My pride strove to mount and grow, And hath but dwindled down; My love sought love, and lo!

Hath not attained its crown.-- Say the Saints: Fresh souls increase us, None languish or recede.

They say: We love our Jesus, And He loves us indeed.

I cannot rise above, I cannot rest beneath, I cannot find out love, Or escape from death; Dear hopes and joys gone by Still mock me with a name; My best beloved die, And I cannot die with them.-- Say the Saints: No deaths decrease us, Where our rest is glorious.

They say: We live in Jesus, Who once died for us.

O my soul, she beats her wings And pants to fly away Up to immortal things In the heavenly day: Yet she flags and almost faints; Can such be meant for me?-- Come and see, say the Saints.

Saith Jesus: Come and see.

Say the Saints: His pleasures please us Before G.o.d and the Lamb.

Come and taste My sweets, saith Jesus: Be with Me where I am.

SAINTS AND ANGELS.

It's oh in Paradise that I fain would be, Away from earth and weariness and all beside; Earth is too full of loss with its dividing sea, But Paradise upbuilds the bower for the bride.

Where flowers are yet in bud while the boughs are green, I would get quit of earth and get robed for heaven; Putting on my raiment white within the screen, Putting on my crown of gold whose gems are seven

Fair is the fourfold river that maketh no moan, Fair are the trees fruit-bearing of the wood, Fair are the gold and bdellium and the onyx stone, And I know the gold of that land is good.

O my love, my dove, lift up your eyes Toward the eastern gate like an opening rose; You and I who parted will meet in Paradise, Pa.s.s within and sing when the gates unclose.

This life is but the pa.s.sage of a day, This life is but a pang and all is over; But in the life to come which fades not away Every love shall abide and every lover.

He who wore out pleasure and mastered all lore, Solomon, wrote "Vanity of vanities:"

Down to death, of all that went before In his mighty long life, the record is this.

With loves by the hundred, wealth beyond measure, Is this he who wrote "Vanity of vanities"?

Yea, "Vanity of vanities" he saith of pleasure, And of all he learned set his seal to this.

Yet we love and faint not, for our love is one, And we hope and flag not, for our hope is sure, Although there be nothing new beneath the sun And no help for life and for death no cure.

The road to death is life, the gate of life is death, We who wake shall sleep, we shall wax who wane; Let us not vex our souls for stoppage of a breath, The fall of a river that turneth not again.

Be the road short, and be the gate near,-- Shall a short road tire, a strait gate appall?

The loves that meet in Paradise shall cast out fear, And Paradise hath room for you and me and all.

"WHEN MY HEART IS VEXED, I WILL COMPLAIN."

"O Lord, how canst Thou say Thou lovest me?

Me whom thou settest in a barren land, Hungry and thirsty on the burning sand, Hungry and thirsty where no waters be Nor shadows of date-bearing tree:-- O Lord, how canst Thou say Thou lovest me?"

"I came from Edom by as parched a track, As rough a track beneath My bleeding feet.