Poems by Christina Georgina Rossetti Part 47

The pleasure I remember, it is past; The pain I feel is pa.s.sing, pa.s.sing by; Thus all the world is pa.s.sing, and thus I: All things that cannot last Have grown familiar, and are born to die.

And being familiar, have so long been borne That habit trains us not to break but bend: Mourning grows natural to us who mourn In foresight of an end, But that which ends not who shall brave or mend?

Surely the ripe fruits tremble on their bough, They cling and linger trembling till they drop: I, trembling, cling to dying life; for how Face the perpetual Now?

Birthless and deathless, void of start or stop,

Void of repentance, void of hope and fear, Of possibility, alternative, Of all that ever made us bear to live From night to morning here, Of promise even which has no gift to give.

The wood, and every creature of the wood, Seemed mourning with me in an undertone; Soft scattered chirpings and a windy moan, Trees rustling where they stood And shivered, showed compa.s.sion for my mood.

Rage to despair; and now despair had turned Back to self-pity and mere weariness, With yearnings like a smouldering fire that burned, And might grow more or less, And might die out or wax to white excess.

Without, within me, music seemed to be; Something not music, yet most musical, Silence and sound in heavenly harmony; At length a pattering fall Of feet, a bell, and bleatings, broke through all.

Then I looked up. The wood lay in a glow From golden sunset and from ruddy sky; The sun had stooped to earth though once so high; Had stooped to earth, in slow Warm dying loveliness brought near and low.

Each water-drop made answer to the light, Lit up a spark and showed the sun his face; Soft purple shadows paved the gra.s.sy s.p.a.ce And crept from height to height, From height to loftier height crept up apace.

While opposite the sun a gazing moon Put on his glory for her coronet, Kindling her luminous coldness to its noon, As his great splendor set; One only star made up her train as yet.

Each twig was tipped with gold, each leaf was edged And veined with gold from the gold-flooded west; Each mother-bird, and mate-bird, and unfledged Nestling, and curious nest, Displayed a gilded moss or beak or breast.

And filing peacefully between the trees, Having the moon behind them, and the sun Full in their meek mild faces, walked at ease A homeward flock, at peace With one another and with every one.

A patriarchal ram with tinkling bell Led all his kin; sometimes one browsing sheep Hung back a moment, or one lamb would leap And frolic in a dell; Yet still they kept together, journeying well,

And bleating, one or other, many or few, Journeying together toward the sunlit west; Mild face by face, and woolly breast by breast, Patient, sun-brightened too, Still journeying toward the sunset and their rest.

"ALL THY WORKS PRAISE THEE, O LORD."

A PROCESSIONAL OF CREATION.

All.

I, All-Creation, sing my song of praise To G.o.d Who made me and vouchsafes my days, And sends me forth by mult.i.tudinous ways.

Seraph.

I, like my Brethren, burn eternally With love of Him Who is Love, and loveth me; The Holy, Holy, Holy Unity.

Cherub.

I, with my Brethren, gaze eternally On Him Who is Wisdom, and Who knoweth me; The Holy, Holy, Holy Trinity.

All Angels.

We rule, we serve, we work, we store His treasure, Whose vessels are we, brimmed with strength and pleasure; Our joys fulfil, yea, overfill our measure.

Heavens.

We float before the Presence Infinite, We cl.u.s.ter round the Throne in our delight, Revolving and rejoicing in G.o.d's sight.

Firmament.

I, blue and beautiful, and framed of air, At sunrise and at sunset grow most fair; His glory by my glories I declare.

Powers.

We Powers are powers because He makes us strong; Wherefore we roll all rolling orbs along, We move all moving things, and sing our song.

Sun.

I blaze to Him in mine engarlanding Of rays, I flame His whole burnt-offering, While as a bridegroom I rejoice and sing.

Moon.

I follow, and am fair, and do His Will; Through all my changes I am faithful still, Full-orbed or strait, His mandate to fulfil.

Stars.

We Star-hosts numerous, innumerous, Throng s.p.a.ce with energy untumultuous, And work His Will Whose eye beholdeth us.

Galaxies and Nebulae.

No thing is far or near; and therefore we Float neither far nor near; but where we be Weave dances round the Throne perpetually.

Comets and Meteors.

Our lights dart here and there, whirl to and fro, We flash and vanish, we die down and glow; All doing His Will Who bids us do it so.

Showers.

We give ourselves; and be we great or small, Thus are we made like Him Who giveth all, Like Him Whose gracious pleasure bids us fall.