The Coming of the Princess, and Other Poems Part 15

With the rapture of angels, the singing Of radiant choirs unknown, And the shouting of glad hosts bringing Our King to His throne!

O City of David, the Golden, That sittest in darkness so long, No longer in chains thou art holden, Break forth into song!

Arise, and upbuild thy waste places, Take helmet and buckler and sword, And gather from far-scattered races The tribes of the Lord!

Thy Prince shall ride onward victorious; Full strong are his arrows and fleet; And high shall His throne he, and glorious The place of His feet!

Set thy lips to the trumpet, awaken The isles of the South and the North, As the trees of the forest are shaken When whirlwinds go forth: Like the waves of the sea, like the thunder Of armies, with jubilant voice, A mult.i.tude no man can number Shall sing and rejoice.

The kingdoms beyond the great river, The uttermost isles of the sea, And peoples and tribes shall deliver Thy children to thee.

Once more shall thine ensign, the Lion Of Judah, be o'er thee unfurled; Once more shall thy gates be, O Zion, Set wide to the world!

With hands stretched in mute supplication, With longing, and weeping, and prayer, We have waited for this, thy salvation, In grief--not despair; Till thy Lord to His temple descended, Shall comfort thee, sorrowful one, And the days of thy mourning be ended, Thy triumph begun.

Till the mountains about thee a.s.semble Lost lights of the sun-dawn, rose-red, White splendours, that point as they tremble The path for His tread: Through the hate of our foes, and their scorning And dumb in the darkness we wake, For the night is far spent--and the morning In glory shall break.

WITH A BUNCH OF SPRING FLOWERS.

(In an Alb.u.m.)

In the spring-time, out of the dew, From my garden, sweet friend, I gather, A garland of verses, or rather A poem of blossoms for you.

There are pansies, purple and white, That hold in their velvet splendour, Sweet thoughts as fragrant and tender, And rarer than poets can write.

The Iris her pennon unfurls, My unspoken message to carry, A flower-poem writ by a fairy, And b.u.t.tercups rounder than pearls.

And Snowdrops starry and sweet, Turn toward thee their pale pure faces And Crocus, and Cowslips, and Daisies The song of the spring-time repeat.

So merry and full of cheer, With the warble of birds overflowing, The wind through the fresh gra.s.s blowing And the blackbirds whistle so dear.

These songs without words are true, All sung in the April weather-- Music and blossoms together-- I gather and weave them for you.

THE HIGHER LAW.

Love and Obedience--these the Higher Law From which Thy worlds have swerved not, singing still Their primal hymn rejoicing, as at first The morning stars together. Hast thou heard, In vast and silent s.p.a.ces of the sky, What time the bead-roll of the universe G.o.d calls in heaven, every tiniest star-- From myriad twinkling points--from plummet depths Of dark too vast for eye and sense to guess, Send up a little silver answer "I am here."

Even so, the humblest of thy little ones, dear Lord, May through the darkness hear Thy still small voice, And answer with quick gladness "Here am I,-- I love Thee,--I obey Thee,--use me too!"

MAY.

Thou comest to the year, And bringest all things beautiful and sweet; Thy lovely miracles themselves repeat In the green glory of the gra.s.s, And peeping flowers that stay our lingering feet With their soft eyes, blue like the sky and clear; Thou bringest not, alas, Our lily, our May-blossom, O New Year!

Thou bringest all things fair, And bright, and gentle, but thou bring'st not her: The May-birds warble, and May breezes stir In the sweet-scented lilac boughs; But our one May--our gentlest minister Of gladness, with the beauty of her hair.

Her place in our still house Is empty,--and the world is bleak and bare.

TWO WINDOWS.

I.

One looks into the sun lawn, and the steep Curved slopes of hills, set sharp against the sky, With tufted woods encinctured, waving high O'er vales below, where broken shadows sleep.

Here, looking forth before the first faint cry Of mother-bird, fluttering a drowsy wing Above her brood, awakes the full-voiced choir, Ere yet the morning tips the hills with fire, And turns the drapery of the east to gold, My wondering eyes the opening heavens behold, Where far within deep calleth unto deep, And the whole world stands hushed and worshipping.

Even thus,--I muse,--shall heaven's gates unfold, When earth beholds the coming of her King.

II.

This opens on the sunset, and the sea From its high cas.e.m.e.nt: never twice the same Grand picture rises in its sea-girt frame Islets of pearl, and rocks of porphyry And cliffs of jasper, touched with sunset flame, And island-trees--that look like Eden's--grow Palm-like and slender, in gradations fine, That fade and die along the horizon line, And the wide heavens become--above--below-- A luminous sea without a boundary

Nay wistful heart,--at day-dawn, or at noon-- Or midnight watch--the Bridegroom cometh soon; By yonder shining path--or pearly gate; The word is sure,--thou therefore, watch and wait.

THE MEETING OF SPIRITS.

From out the dark of death, before the gates Flung wide, that open into paradise-- More radiant than the white gates of the morn-- A human soul, new-born, Stood with glad wonder in its luminous eyes, For all the glory of that blessed place Flowed thence, and made a halo round the face-- gentle, and strong with the rapt faith that waits And faints not: sweet with hallowing pain The face was, as a sunset after rain, with a grave tender brightness. Now it turned From the white splendours where G.o.d's glory burned, And the long ranks of quiring cherubim-- Each with wing-shaded eyelids, near the throne, Who sang--and ceased not--the adoring hymn Of Holy, Holy! And the cloud of smoke Went up from the waved censers, with the prayers Of saints, that wafted outward blessing-freighted broke Around him standing at the gate alone.

All down the radiant slope of golden stairs, By which he climbed so late from earth to heaven, It rolled impalpable--a fragrant cloud; And still, turned from the Alleluias loud, Beyond the portal-guarding angels seven, He listened earthward, for a voice--a sound Out of the dark that spread heneath profound.

No wind of G.o.d stirred in that cloudy land That bordered all the River's thither side; To his that called no voice responsive cried, Or cleft the dark with flash of answering hand.

And soft the while, sheathed, as it were, within The noise of heaven's rejoicing, to him stole Beloved voices, long to earth a sole Remembered sweetness only; sacred kept As reliquaries are that guard from sin, And wake the holy aim which else had slept.

How yearned his heart to those long parted ones The amaranth, and the sacred flower which grew A saintly lily by the jasper wall, Making light shadows on those wondrous stones, As the wind touched its slender stems and tall, Turned not to sunward more divinely true, Than his most worshipping soul to that which made The light of heaven.

But now the nether shade Grew luminous with white ascending wings, And radiant arms of angels, who upbore With tender hands another soul new-born, Fairer than that last star whose bearing flings Another beauty on the brow of morn.

Nearer the lovely vision rose, and more Aerial clear each moment to his eyes, Who stood in ecstacy of glad surprise, And looks of joyous welcome, while the air was stirred With the swift winnowing plumes approaching.

This I heard, And only this,--"Oh! haste thee, spirit blest, For thee and me remains at length the rest, The welcome end of life's long toilsome road, That leads us to our Father and our G.o.d."

And--"Oh beloved, is it thou indeed, Hast reached before me these fair heavenly lands, Who taught thine infant lips, with reverent heed To say Our Father with small upraised hands: How lovely are thine eyes, that have no pain, And thy worn cheek, that keeps no travel-stain, From mid-noon labour called to thy reward; While I, at evening, a forgotten sheaf Still left afield, in mingled trust and grief, Waited the footsteps of our harvest Lord."

I heard no more--for wave succeeding wave-- A sea of intermittent music swelled and grew, And filled the dome of heaven, all sharply cut With spires of glittering crystal: all the land Throbbed with the pulse of music keen, which clave A shining path before them: hand in hand-- With their rapt faces toward the throne--the two Went in together--and the gates were shut.

GEORGE BROWN.