Songs out of Doors Part 8

SALUTE TO THE TREES

Many a tree is found in the wood And every tree for its use is good: Some for the strength of the gnarled root, Some for the sweetness of flower or fruit; Some for shelter against the storm, And some to keep the hearth-stone warm; Some for the roof, and some for the beam, And some for a boat to breast the stream;-- In the wealth of the wood since the world began The trees have offered their gifts to man.

But the glory of trees is more than their gifts: 'Tis a beautiful wonder of life that lifts, From a wrinkled seed in an earth-bound clod, A column, an arch in the temple of G.o.d, A pillar of power, a dome of delight, A shrine of song, and a joy of sight!

Their roots are the nurses of rivers in birth; Their leaves are alive with the breath of the earth; They shelter the dwellings of man; and they bend O'er his grave with the look of a loving friend.

I have camped in the whispering forest of pines, I have slept in the shadow of olives and vines; In the knees of an oak, at the foot of a palm I have found good rest and slumber's balm.

And now, when the morning gilds the boughs Of the vaulted elm at the door of my house, I open the window and make salute: "G.o.d bless thy branches and feed thy root!

Thou hast lived before, live after me, Thou ancient, friendly, faithful tree."

February, 1920.

III

OF THE UNFAILING LIGHT

THE GRAND CANYON

DAYBREAK

What makes the lingering Night so cling to thee?

Thou vast, profound, primeval hiding-place Of ancient secrets,--gray and ghostly gulf Cleft in the green of this high forest land, And crowded in the dark with giant forms!

Art thou a grave, a prison, or a shrine?

A stillness deeper than the dearth of sound Broods over thee: a living silence breathes Perpetual incense from thy dim abyss.

The morning-stars that sang above the bower Of Eden, pa.s.sing over thee, are dumb With trembling bright amazement; and the Dawn Steals through the glimmering pines with naked feet, Her hand upon her lips, to look on thee!

She peers into thy depths with silent prayer For light, more light, to part thy purple veil.

O Earth, swift-rolling Earth, reveal, reveal,-- Turn to the East, and show upon thy breast The mightiest marvel in the realm of Time!

'Tis done,--the morning miracle of light,-- The resurrection of the world of hues That die with dark, and daily rise again With every rising of the splendid Sun!

Be still, my heart! Now Nature holds her breath To see the solar flood of radiance leap Across the chasm, and crown the western rim Of alabaster with a far-away Rampart of pearl, and flowing down by walls Of changeful opal, deepen into gold Of topaz, rosy gold of tourmaline, Crimson of garnet, green and gray of jade, Purple of amethyst, and ruby red, Beryl, and sard, and royal porphyry; Until the cataract of colour breaks Upon the blackness of the granite floor.

How far below! And all between is cleft And carved into a hundred curving miles Of unimagined architecture! Tombs, Temples, and colonnades are neighboured there By fortresses that t.i.tans might defend, And amphitheatres where G.o.ds might strive.

Cathedrals, b.u.t.tressed with unnumbered tiers Of ruddy rock, lift to the sapphire sky A single spire of marble pure as snow; And huge aerial palaces arise Like mountains built of unconsuming flame.

Along the weathered walls, or standing deep In riven valleys where no foot may tread, Are lonely pillars, and tall monuments Of perished aeons and forgotten things.

My sight is baffled by the wide array Of countless forms: my vision reels and swims Above them, like a bird in whirling winds.

Yet no confusion fills the awful chasm; But s.p.a.cious order and a sense of peace Brood over all. For every shape that looms Majestic in the throng, is set apart From all the others by its far-flung shade, Blue, blue, as if a mountain-lake were there.

How still it is! Dear G.o.d, I hardly dare To breathe, for fear the fathomless abyss Will draw me down into eternal sleep.

What force has formed this masterpiece of awe?

What hands have wrought these wonders in the waste?

O river, gleaming in the narrow rift Of gloom that cleaves the valley's nether deep,-- Fierce Colorado, prisoned by thy toil, And blindly toiling still to reach the sea,-- Thy waters, gathered from the snows and springs Amid the Utah hills, have carved this road Of glory to the California Gulf.

But now, O sunken stream, thy splendour lost, 'Twixt iron walls thou rollest turbid waves, Too far away to make their fury heard!

At sight of thee, thou sullen labouring slave Of gravitation,--yellow torrent poured From distant mountains by no will of thine, Through thrice a hundred centuries of slow Fallings and liftings of the crust of Earth,-- At sight of thee my spirit sinks and fails.

Art thou alone the Maker? Is the blind Unconscious power that drew thee dumbly down To cut this gash across the layered globe, The sole creative cause of all I see?

Are force and matter all? The rest a dream?

Then is thy gorge a canyon of despair, A prison for the soul of man, a grave Of all his dearest daring hopes! The world Wherein we live and move is meaningless, No spirit here to answer to our own!

The stars without a guide: The chance-born Earth Adrift in s.p.a.ce, no Captain on the ship: Nothing in all the universe to prove Eternal wisdom and eternal love!

And man, the latest accident of Time,-- Who thinks he loves, and longs to understand, Who vainly suffers, and in vain is brave, Who dupes his heart with immortality,-- Man is a living lie,--a bitter jest Upon himself,--a conscious grain of sand Lost in a desert of unconsciousness, Thirsting for G.o.d and mocked by his own thirst.

Spirit of Beauty, mother of delight, Thou fairest offspring of Omnipotence Inhabiting this lofty lone abode, Speak to my heart again and set me free From all these doubts that darken earth and heaven!

Who sent thee forth into the wilderness To bless and comfort all who see thy face?

Who clad thee in this more than royal robe Of rainbows? Who designed these jewelled thrones For thee, and wrought these glittering palaces?

Who gave thee power upon the soul of man To lift him up through wonder into joy?

G.o.d! let the radiant cliffs bear witness, G.o.d!

Let all the shining pillars signal, G.o.d!

He only, on the mystic loom of light, Hath woven webs of loveliness to clothe His most majestic works: and He alone Hath delicately wrought the cactus-flower To star the desert floor with rosy bloom.

O Beauty, handiwork of the Most High, Where'er thou art He tells his Love to man, And lo, the day breaks, and the shadows flee!

Now, far beyond all language and all art In thy wild splendour, Canyon marvellous, The secret of thy stillness lies unveiled In worldless worship! This is holy ground; Thou art no grave, no prison, but a shrine.

Garden of Temples filled with Silent Praise, If G.o.d were blind thy Beauty could not be!

February 24-26, 1913.

G.o.d OF THE OPEN AIR

I

Thou who hast made thy dwelling fair With flowers below, above with starry lights And set thine altars everywhere,-- On mountain heights, In woodlands dim with many a dream, In valleys bright with springs, And on the curving capes of every stream: Thou who hast taken to thyself the wings Of morning, to abide Upon the secret places of the sea, And on far islands, where the tide Visits the beauty of untrodden sh.o.r.es, Waiting for worshippers to come to thee In thy great out-of-doors!

To thee I turn, to thee I make my prayer, G.o.d of the open air.

II

Seeking for thee, the heart of man Lonely and longing ran, In that first, solitary hour, When the mysterious power To know and love the wonder of the morn Was breathed within him, and his soul was born; And thou didst meet thy child, Not in some hidden shrine, But in the freedom of the garden wild, And take his hand in thine,-- There all day long in Paradise he walked, And in the cool of evening with thee talked.

III

Lost, long ago, that garden bright and pure, Lost, that calm day too perfect to endure, And lost the child-like love that worshipped and was sure!

For men have dulled their eyes with sin, And dimmed the light of heaven with doubt, And built their temple walls to shut thee in, And framed their iron creeds to shut thee out.