Poems by Christina Georgina Rossetti Part 54

"That I love thee the proof is plain: How dost thou love again?"-- In prayer, in toil, in earthly loss, In a long-carried cross.

"Yea, thou dost love: yet one adept Brings more for Me to accept."-- I mould my will to match with Thine, My wishes I resign.

"Thou givest much: then give the whole For solace of My soul."-- More would I give, if I could get: But, Lord, what lack I yet?

"In Me thou lovest Me: I call Thee to love Me in all."-- Brim full my heart, dear Lord, that so My love may overflow.

"Love Me in sinners and in saints, In each who needs or faints."-- Lord, I will love Thee as I can In every brother man.

"All sore, all crippled, all who ache, Tend all for My dear sake."-- All for Thy sake, Lord: I will see In every sufferer, Thee.

"So I at last, upon My Throne Of glory, Judge alone, So I at last will say to thee: Thou diddest it to Me."

A MARTYR.

THE VIGIL OF THE FEAST.

Inner not outer, without gnash of teeth Or weeping, save quiet sobs of some who pray And feel the Everlasting Arms beneath,-- Blackness of darkness this, but not for aye; Darkness that even in gathering fleeteth fast, Blackness of blackest darkness close to day.

Lord Jesus, through Thy darkened pillar cast, Thy gracious eyes all-seeing cast on me Until this tyranny be overpast.

Me, Lord, remember who remember Thee, And cleave to Thee, and see Thee without sight, And choose Thee still in dire extremity, And in this darkness worship Thee my Light, And Thee my Life adore in shadow of death, Thee loved by day, and still beloved by night.

It is the Voice of my Beloved that saith: "I am the Way, the Truth, the Life, I go Whither that soul knows well that followeth"--

O Lord, I follow, little as I know; At this eleventh hour I rise and take My life into my hand, and follow so, With tears and heart-misgivings and heart-ache; Thy feeblest follower, yet Thy follower Indomitable for Thine only sake.

To-night I gird my will afresh, and stir My strength, and brace my heart to do and dare, Marvelling: Will to-morrow wake the whirr Of the great rending wheel, or from his lair Startle the jubilant lion in his rage, Or clench the headsman's hand within my hair, Or kindle fire to speed my pilgrimage, Chariot of fire and horses of sheer fire Whirling me home to heaven by one fierce stage?

Thy Will I will, I Thy desire desire; Let not the waters close above my head, Uphold me that I sink not in this mire: For flesh and blood are frail and sore afraid; And young I am, unsatisfied and young, With memories, hopes, with cravings all unfed, My song half sung, its sweetest notes unsung, All plans cut short, all possibilities, Because my cord of life is soon unstrung.

Was I a careless woman set at ease That this so bitter cup is brimmed for me?

Had mine own vintage settled on the lees?

A word, a puff of smoke, would set me free; A word, a puff of smoke, over and gone:...

Howbeit, whom have I, Lord, in heaven but Thee?

Yea, only Thee my choice is fixed upon In heaven or earth, eternity or time:-- Lord, hold me fast, Lord, leave me not alone, Thy silly heartless dove that sees the lime Yet almost flutters to the tempting bough: Cover me, hide me, pluck me from this crime.

A word, a puff of smoke, would save me now:...

But who, my G.o.d, would save me in the day Of Thy fierce anger? only Saviour Thou.

Preoccupy my heart, and turn away And cover up mine eyes from frantic fear, And stop mine ears lest I be driven astray: For one stands ever dinning in mine ear How my gray Father withers in the blight Of love for me, who cruel am and dear; And how my Mother through this lingering night Until the day, sits tearless in her woe, Loathing for love of me the happy light Which brings to pa.s.s a concourse and a show To glut the hungry faces merciless, The thousand faces swaying to and fro, Feasting on me unveiled in helplessness

Alone,--yet not alone: Lord, stand by me As once by lonely Paul in his distress.

As blossoms to the sun I turn to Thee; Thy dove turns to her window, think no scorn; As one dove to an ark on sh.o.r.eless sea, To Thee I turn mine eyes, my heart forlorn; Put forth Thy scarred right Hand, kind Lord, take hold Of me Thine all-forsaken dove who mourn: For Thou hast loved me since the days of old, And I love Thee Whom loving I will love Through life's short fever-fits of heat and cold; Thy Name will I extol and sing thereof, Will flee for refuge to Thy Blessed Name.

Lord, look upon me from thy bliss above: Look down on me, who shrink from all the shame And pangs and desolation of my death, Wrenched piecemeal or devoured or set on flame, While all the world around me holds its breath With eyes glued on me for a gazing-stock, Pitiless eyes, while no man pitieth.

The floods are risen, I stagger in their shock, My heart reels and is faint, I fail, I faint: My G.o.d, set Thou me up upon the rock, Thou Who didst long ago Thyself acquaint With death, our death; Thou Who didst long ago

Pour forth Thy soul for sinner and for saint.

Bear me in mind, whom no one else will know; Thou Whom Thy friends forsook, take Thou my part, Of all forsaken in mine overthrow; Carry me in Thy bosom, in Thy heart, Carry me out of darkness into light, To-morrow make me see Thee as Thou art.

Lover and friend Thou hidest from my sight:-- Alas, alas, mine earthly love, alas, For whom I thought to don the garments white And white wreath of a bride, this rugged pa.s.s Hath utterly divorced me from thy care; Yea, I am to thee as a shattered gla.s.s Worthless, with no more beauty lodging there, Abhorred, lest I involve thee in my doom: For sweet are sunshine and this upper air, And life and youth are sweet, and give us room For all most sweetest sweetnesses we taste: Dear, what hast thou in common with a tomb?

I bow my head in silence, I make haste Alone, I make haste out into the dark, My life and youth and hope all run to waste.

Is this my body cold and stiff and stark, Ashes made ashes, earth becoming earth, Is this a prize for man to make his mark?

Am I, that very I who laughed in mirth A while ago, a little, little while, Yet all the while a-dying since my birth?

Now am I tired, too tired to strive or smile; I sit alone, my mouth is in the dust: Look Thou upon me, Lord, for I am vile.

In Thee is all my hope, is all my trust, On Thee I centre all my self that dies, And self that dies not with its mortal crust, But sleeps and wakes, and in the end will rise With hymns and hallelujahs on its lips, Thee loving with the love that satisfies.

As once in Thine unutterable eclipse The sun and moon grew dark for sympathy, And earth cowered quaking underneath the drips Of Thy slow Blood priceless exceedingly, So now a little spare me, and show forth Some pity, O my G.o.d, some pity of me.

If trouble comes not from the south or north, But meted to us by Thy tender hand, Let me not in Thine eyes be nothing worth: Behold me where in agony I stand, Behold me no man caring for my soul, And take me to Thee in the far-off land, Shorten the race and lift me to the goal.

WHY?

Lord, if I love Thee and Thou lovest me, Why need I any more these toilsome days; Why should I not run singing up Thy ways Straight into heaven, to rest myself with Thee?

What need remains of death-pang yet to be, If all my soul is quickened in Thy praise; If all my heart loves Thee, what need the amaze, Struggle and dimness of an agony?-- Bride whom I love, if thou too lovest Me, Thou needs must choose My Likeness for thy dower: So wilt thou toil in patience, and abide Hungering and thirsting for that blessed hour When I My Likeness shall behold in thee, And thou therein shalt waken satisfied.

"LOVE IS STRONG AS DEATH."

"I have not sought Thee, I have not found Thee, I have not thirsted for Thee: And now cold billows of death surround me, Buffeting billows of death astound me,-- Wilt Thou look upon, wilt Thou see Thy perishing me?"

"Yea, I have sought thee, yea, I have found thee, Yea, I have thirsted for thee, Yea, long ago with love's bands I bound thee: Now the Everlasting Arms surround thee,-- Through death's darkness I look and see And clasp thee to Me."

BIRCHINGTON CHURCHYARD.

A lowly hill which overlooks a flat, Half sea, half country side; A flat-sh.o.r.ed sea of low-voiced creeping tide Over a chalky, weedy mat.

A hill of hillocks, flowery and kept green Round Crosses raised for hope, With many-tinted sunsets where the slope Faces the lingering western sheen.

A lowly hope, a height that is but low, While Time sets solemnly, While the tide rises of Eternity, Silent and neither swift nor slow.

ONE SEA-SIDE GRAVE.

Unmindful of the roses, Unmindful of the thorn, A reaper tired reposes Among his gathered corn: So might I, till the morn!

Cold as the cold Decembers, Past as the days that set, While only one remembers And all the rest forget,-- But one remembers yet.

BROTHER BRUIN.

A dancing Bear grotesque and funny Earned for his master heaps of money, Gruff yet good-natured, fond of honey, And cheerful if the day was sunny.