Song-waves Part 2

Lift, lift, ye gates of endless noons, That entrance yield on G.o.d's own boons Of liberty as law in fruitage, And timeless months of transcendent Junes!

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O June has lit her splendid lamp In the broad meadow lush and damp, Where loves the brook in loops to loiter, And tufted vernal to pitch its camp!

Last night she veiled the starlit sky, And walked beside the brook so shy; She took from out her beating bosom A lighted orchis--and pa.s.sed on high.

At dawn July came o'er the hills-- O light of eye and deep heart-thrills, As she beheld the glowing orchis Whose splendor now all the meadow fills!

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A quiet breath distils in calm, And fills the fields with honeyed balm; It cools the rose's cheek, and rolleth In drops of dew on the poppy's palm--

Each crystal globe filled full of fire, And flashing like a color pyre, All heavened beneath the eye of morning, To sate the hunger of day's desire.

O Breath divine, that form and hue, And ecstasy of light and blue, Gave to Orion and the Pleiads, Thou hast begotten the orbs of dew.

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Far-off and veiled it seems to me, The face of yester dreamy sea, That breathed so soft its shining waters Pungent with odors of rosemary.

No sculptured arabesque to-day, But unhewn strength in mighty play, That heaves the ship on bursting billow And smites the cliff in its ancient way!

Beneath its silken vestments beat A lion heart of jungle heat; Its couchant soul delights in battle To fell the rock and to whelm the fleet.

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Vast promise is the sea, and vast Its pain. Its secret is held fast,-- Now hope's wide open eye and sunny, And now a weeping and wailing past.

(I have a grievance unredrest That stings my heart and rends my breast,-- Perhaps _it_ gathers in its bosom The sorrows wild of the world's opprest?)

Deformity or pain unstrings The music of the soul of things,-- Ah, suns burn bright in eyes of panther, And lightnings leap in the eagle's wings!

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Calm soul, unkindled by the sight Of open heavens at noon of night, Thou'lt dread the fires of day of judgment When roll the skies as a parchment slight.

He waits not for that upward gaze-- The world is full of judgment days; And every night the page is written, "An atheist," or "Behold he prays!"

Ah, me! These lights so manifold, So silvern new, so golden old, Do witness swift, like fires of vengeance, Against indifferent hearts and cold.

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There are no solitudes to view, The whole world lies in drop of dew; From where it hangs all s.p.a.ce is open; It neighbors stars of the crystal blue.

This open vision has my soul Athrill with silent organ-roll Of immanence divine, and feels it Upgather all in harmonious whole,--

Deep waves of G.o.d's vast music clear, That pulse one choral atmosphere Of Love's concordant purposes, and Fore-score the song of His golden year.

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If mighty angels fair and tall, Each robed as priestly seneschal, On altar-suns burn incense daily, As wheel the systems to Love's sweet call,

Earth's sun is sure an altar-rose, Abloom from dawn to day's bright close.

The mighty angel stoops above it With pulsing wings, as it golden glows,

To fan the incense-waves through s.p.a.ce.

When buds the light or folds its grace, He lifts erect his glorious stature, Kindling the sky from his ruddy face.

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Across the hills the cattle call, As black the boding shadows fall; Zigzag the lightning writes its message That's thundered forth from the mountain wall.

From out the overhanging frown The loosened rain comes rattling down!

The swallow's gone, the daisy cowers-- But joy to fields in their tan and brown!

The burnished cypher of the sky Now lets the loud-tongued thunder die.

Nature's delight, a timeless rapture, Glows in her face and rekindled eye.

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The "trees of G.o.d," the prophet said, Great trees, with sap, and laurelled head; Ay, trees of G.o.d! all strength, all beauty, Wove by invisible Hand and thread,--

With anchors flexed as lissome withe; With boles like mighty monolith; These arms of brawn, outstretched in power To brave the storms that would test their pith!

Lords of the scene in blasts and calms, The breath of life within their palms, They rhythmic sway in choral murmur While seas and suns chant their rolling psalms.

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