Song-waves Part 3

The flecks of gold that glorify The forest floors to loving eye, Withdraw from me,--a splendor lingers On trees of G.o.d, in their crowns on high.

And as the arch with stars is sprent, I hear balm-dew from firmament Drip richly from their whispering leaf.a.ge To soothe the fields to a sweet content.

In bloom of dark they softly stir, Till arrowy dawn the shadow-blur Dispels--G.o.d's tingling kiss of morning On oak and maple and pine and fir.

{42}

The ideal is a lifting sky Wherein my soul may upward fly; It moveth as I onward journey, Solace of heart and the light of eye.

Spirit to spirit! Thus is wrought All that uplifts the world of thought Or wings the soul with aspiration, By which the life to its height is brought.

Great souls the mount of vision trod, While plumy fire their sandals shod; They saw the unseen and eternal.

O life is life when 'tis seen in G.o.d!

{43}

The spirit firm and swelling soul Are heart of n.o.ble self-control, Sources of power trans.m.u.ting danger To clarion-call to the man as whole.

'Tis courage helms the bark that's tost By wild typhoon, or swept by frost, While sailing life's surprising ocean,-- Strike sail to fear and the bark is lost.

O muse, thou sing'st no siren strain To him who plows this heaven-domed main!

Thy starry eyes look down all-wistful On souls that toy with a tangled skein.

{44}

Man's highest word, as G.o.d's above, The golden word of words, is love; Its whisper is the soul's one rapture, Its voice the voice of the brooding dove.

Immortal rose of joy elate, Thy perfume's waft by palace gate Or hovel door, in cloud or sunshine, That breath of Eden which all hearts wait.

Ensouled in clay man's glory is, Yet love dilates this soul of his Till chrysalis of earth be shattered, And comes the answer to Psyche's quiz.

{45}

Love bows herself in holy prayer To worship ever the All Fair; She coins her heart in largess golden, And beggars self on her altar-stair.

Love lifts her hands that, liker yet To One whom on the way she met, All hearts may glow, as sea to sky light, Till earth shall never its heaven forget.

Love bears upon her ardent breast The fainting ones in east and west, And yearning cries: Let come Thy kingdom, Be Thou of sorrowing hearts the guest.

{46}

As on a hill-top near the sun The stars are unseen, every one, While from its base within the valley Their festal pomp is e'en now begun;

So lowly lives 'mid shadows pa.s.sed Have higher skies above them ma.s.sed, See galaxies and constellations-- The many mansions o'er them engla.s.sed.

Encamped am I; earth's not my home.

The glory flashing 'neath yon dome, Refusing to be leashed, like music, Supernal is, and it beckons, Come!

{47}

Sunshine, O soul, is not a mood-- Open the life unto the good.

The great sun globes itself at morning In dewy lawns, but 'tis dark in wood.

Up, up, and purge thy spirit's sight.

See wheeling wings, superb in flight, Of golden eagle's aspiration!

E'en thus aspire to the Central Light.

In loom divine the clouds are wove, And shot with hues of irised dove, The blinding shafts of light to temper With airy curtains of Love's own love.

{48}

A bird on sudden, as I write, Through open door in eager flight Seeks refuge from a falcon's talons, Upon my breast, in its fearful plight.

Slight bird and dark in olive green, With yellow throat, thy living sheen Doth come and go with thy heart's throbbing,-- Safe, safe art thou from his talons keen!

I am as G.o.d to thee, poor thing!

Now take thee to thy heaven and sing A virelay for thy deliverance, Sweet vireo of the olive wing!

{49}

Fresh sprig of greenest southernwood, Thou call'st me back to my childhood!

Thy aromatic odors waken A thousand echoes. I hear the good

Old man of G.o.d, long-haired and tall, In the old church, to great and small, His lightning message give, and listen The echoing thunder that rolled o'er all.

The tiny child twirls oft its spray Of southernwood,--'tis a far day, Yet fresh I smell the keen aroma, See arms ahovering--"Let us pray!"

{50}

I feel the season's dreamy call In hawkbit, asters, 'pyeweed tall,-- Glory of August ere September Trumpet the note of the hasting fall.