Rampolli Part 3

Thou stand'st with love unshaken Ever by every man; And if by all forsaken, Art still the faithful one.

Such love must win the wrestle; At last thy love they'll see, Weep bitterly, and nestle Like children to thy knee.

Thou with thy love hast found me!

O do not let me go!

Keep me where thou hast bound me Till one with thee I grow.

My brothers yet will waken, One look to heaven will dart-- Then sink down, love-o'ertaken, And fall upon thy heart.

VII.

HYMN.

Few understand The mystery of Love, Know insatiableness, And thirst eternal.

Of the Last Supper The divine meaning Is to the earthly senses a riddle; But he that ever From warm, beloved lips, Drew breath of life; In whom the holy glow Ever melted the heart in trembling waves; Whose eye ever opened so As to fathom The bottomless deeps of heaven-- Will eat of his body And drink of his blood Everlastingly.

Who of the earthly body Has divined the lofty sense?

Who can say That he understands the blood?

One day all is body, _One_ body: In heavenly blood Swims the blissful two.

Oh that the ocean Were even now flushing!

And in odorous flesh The rock were upswelling!

Never endeth the sweet repast; Never doth Love satisfy itself; Never close enough, never enough its own, Can it _have_ the beloved!

By ever tenderer lips Transformed, the Partaken Goes deeper, grows nearer.

Pleasure more ardent Thrills through the soul; Thirstier and hungrier Becomes the heart; And so endureth Love's delight From everlasting to everlasting.

Had the refraining Tasted but once, All had they left To set themselves down with us To the table of longing Which will never be bare; Then had they known Love's Infinite fullness, And commended the sustenance Of body and blood.

VIII.

Weep I must--my heart runs over: Would he once himself discover-- If but once, from far away!

Holy sorrow! still prevailing Is my weeping, is my wailing: Would that I were turned to clay!

Evermore I hear him crying To his Father, see him dying: Will this heart for ever beat!

Will my eyes in death close never?

Weeping all into a river Were a bliss for me too sweet!

Hear I none but me bewailing?

Dies his name an echo failing?

Is the world at once struck dead?

Shall I from his eyes, ah! never More drink love and life for ever?

Is he now for always dead?

_Dead?_ What means that sound of dolour?

Tell me, tell me thou, a scholar, What it means, that word so grim.

He is silent; all turn from me!

No one on the earth will show me Where my heart may look for him!

Earth no more, whate'er befall me, Can to any gladness call me!

She is but one dream of woe!

I too am with him departed: Would I lay with him, still-hearted, In the region down below!

Hear, me, hear, his and my father!

My dead bones, I pray thee, gather Unto his--and soon, I pray!

Gra.s.s his hillock soon will cover, Soon the wind will wander over, Soon his form will fade away.

If his love they once perceived, Soon, soon all men had believed, Letting all things else go by!

Lord of love him only owning, All would weep with me bemoaning, And in bitter woe would die!

IX.

He lives! he's risen from the dead!

To every man I shout; His presence over us is spread, Goes with us in and out.

To each I say it; each apace His comrades telleth too-- That straight will dawn in every place The heavenly kingdom new.

Now, to the new mind, first appears The world a fatherland; A new life men receive, with tears Of rapture, from his hand.

Down into deepest gulfs of sea Grim Death hath sunk away; And now each man with holy glee, Can face his coming day.

The darksome road that he hath gone Leads out on heaven's floor: Who heeds the counsel of the Son Enters the Father's door.

Down here weeps no one any more For friend that shuts his eyes; For, soon or late, the parting sore Will change to glad surprise.

And now to every friendly deed Each heart will warmer glow; For many a fold the fresh-sown seed In lovelier fields will blow.

He lives--will sit beside our hearths, The greatest with the least; Therefore this day shall be our Earth's Glad Renovation-feast.

X.

The times are all so wretched!

The heart so full of cares!

The future, far outstretched, A spectral horror wears.

Wild terrors creep and hover With foot so ghastly soft!

Our souls black midnights cover With mountains piled aloft.

Firm props like reeds are waving; For trust is left no stay; Our thoughts, like whirlpool raving, No more the will obey!

Frenzy, with eye resistless, Decoys from Truth's defence; Life's pulse is flagging listless, And dull is every sense.

Who hath the cross upheaved To shelter every soul?

Who lives, on high received, To make the wounded whole?

Go to the tree of wonder; Give silent longing room; Issuing flames asunder Thy bad dream will consume.

Draws thee an angel tender In saftey to the strand: Lo, at thy feet in splendour Lies spread the Promised Land!