DEAMATIC SONNETS 
 
 A.M.E. 
 
 3^ 
 
 In truth the prison unto which we doom 
 Ourselves, no prison is: and hence to me 
 In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound 
 Within the sonnet's scanty plot of ground 
 Pleased if some souls, (for such there needs must 
 Who have felt the weight of too much liberty [be) 
 Should find brief solace there as I have found. 
 
 WORDSWORTH 
 
 SEASIDE PRESS; 
 NEWPORT, R.I. 
 
n 
 6 
 
 
 >^ , :2,cl»^<^ (W 
 

 i << 
 
 ^ PREFACE. 
 
 ^^ 
 
 ^ For the sake of thoiiglittul readers to whom the 
 
 name "JJramatic Sonnets" mav not explain tlie 
 ^ contradictor^^ nature of the various forms of opin- 
 
 ion to be found in them, it is well to say; that these 
 verses are j^art of an unfinished design to give 
 expression to every i)ossible form of conflicting 
 thought and feeling. 
 
 Only occasionally, is there any meaning observ- 
 ed in the order of sequence. 
 
 A.M.R. 
 
Let not Theology, nor Sentiment — 
 That half interpreter of truths, be bold 
 To speak of things that Faith alone can hold 
 Of right divine, and yet be ill content 
 That Art should dare invade her element: 
 Art the grave master with clear vision cold, 
 And heart of warmest love for the manifold 
 Converging forces that in truth are blent. 
 Eeligion hath no science and no form 
 But in the silent world of Faith; and we 
 Who would create her image, must employ 
 The unsparing hand of Art; all night and storm 
 And fear that shape her outlines, we must see 
 Xo less than her indwelling light and joy. 
 
Earth's highest gift, be others wli at they may 
 Is leisure — ineasured duty, needful care, 
 But time for thought. Alas, not everywhere. 
 Have duty's keenest followers won the day; 
 For the unresisted impulse to obey 
 The prompting of athouglitless conscience, bare 
 To every sting, must the firm will impair. 
 And waste our strength in labyrinths far away 
 From simple action. Master of his soul 
 Is he whom careful ISTature hath endowed 
 With power to stay, and let the world go by. 
 The worlds conflicting duties past him roll, 
 Till he discern, from all the tumult loud 
 The single voice with warrant from on high. 
 
Recluse by nature, or from circamstauce 
 
 Or wise resolve, — we, who long solitude 
 
 Have chosen, where the world may not intrude; 
 
 Let us from strength to higher strength advance 
 
 Nor be content with peace that any chance 
 
 Of man's regard, that needless gratitude 
 
 Foi: recognitition menace, still renewed 
 
 Through new rebellion. Their serene expanse 
 
 Of birthright freedom, they alone, indeed 
 
 Inherit, who to the sovereignty are born 
 
 Of mortal envy; who from life recede 
 
 [Not out of ignorant hate, nor thoughtless scorn. 
 
 But from allegiance to a higher creed 
 
 That social laws and duties have forsworn. 
 
J>^o peace that grants a haven of repose 
 From Earth's incessant vanity and care 
 But must be dearly purchased. All men share 
 The struggle for existence, and even those 
 Who tired of life's conventions, empty shows 
 And heartless triumphs, in themselves will dare 
 Eesolve to live above them, must prepare 
 For other conflicts, though with other foes. 
 The world will rally to avenge the cause 
 Of her elect, and in w^hat fortress rare 
 Of self-possession we may scorn to fear 
 The onset, she will claim for broken laws 
 Indemnity in secret, hard to bear 
 4s the exactions of her vexed career. 
 
6 
 
 L ORD, I believe; help thou mine unbelief, 
 Ortea-c' - -hat it weighs not in thy scale 
 A grain of dust. Although my vision fail, 
 Although this world stand in so bold relief 
 Against thy far pale heaven, though ages, brief 
 Yet self-sustaining in their tenure frail 
 Make life eternal but an idle tale. 
 Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief. 
 Assure me of the truth I only feel^ 
 That doubt is but an ailment of the mind 
 That life may heal; a burden of the soul 
 That patience lightens, though until the .^eal 
 Of Death is raised, my conscience wait^ to find 
 That faith whereof no dogma hath control. 
 
♦ 
 
Deny thy heart the false humility 
 
 That claims the merciful justice Grod aud man 
 
 Accord to iguorauce, thou, in Nature's plan 
 
 The first and last, to whom the truth is free 
 
 As air and light. The freedom that must be 
 
 To acknowledge heights and depths we cannot span, 
 
 And limitations that with thought began, 
 
 Confound not witli the slothful liberty 
 
 Of uncontrolled conscience, that may choose 
 
 Its own false limit, intercepting light 
 
 To boast of doubt and darkness that refuse, 
 
 That fear,decision, while to left and right 
 
 The radiance of thy nature's inward sun 
 
 Shines on thy vineyard's work, unloved, undone. 
 
8 
 
 Ij TURNING froin my faith to Knowledge, saw 
 
 All forms of life go down to endless death, 
 
 Nor was there power in man's diviner bieath 
 
 To stay the arm of nniversal law. 
 
 And when I said that manmnst surely die, 
 
 Behohl my living soul was dead within; 
 
 He crucified afresh who for my sin. 
 
 Did once draw near the mercy seat on high. 
 
 Ah! Lord my soul is dead, my heart is cold, 
 
 That did aspire to serve thee night and day, 
 
 Ah! cruel hands have taken my Lord away 
 
 That I nor love nor fear Him as of old. 
 
 And to these prayers that fill the vacant skies 
 
 No Voice in all the universe replies . 
 
9 
 
 So dear is life, and the beloved dust 
 That answers to our love no more, so dear, 
 That the unconscious argument, sincere, 
 Of strong desire may build the innate trust 
 In life immortal. Even the hosts august. 
 Martyr and saint and ministering angel, clear 
 To wistful faith, fade from his atmosphere 
 Who finds eternal [N^ature wisely just 
 In death as life, who loves the truth so well. 
 That life ianot so dear. Although the law 
 Of visible Nature m a^^ not m ark th e tide 
 And limit of the will of God, nor tell 
 The tale of being, with no lessened awe 
 He bows, who dai es to otherwise decide. 
 
10 
 
 From that calm height where Law can never yi eld 
 His place to Mercy, comes to mortal ears 
 The cry, Renounce! that every one who hears 
 Must, as he will, interpret. On some field 
 Of that self-warfare thev are called to wield 
 A sword of fire, whose names are written clear 
 Whether in heaven or earth; and in the sphere 
 Of every life, however man may shield 
 His slothful will,the unexplained command 
 Haunts the convictions of his troubled mind 
 With dreams of rest. It may be that we live 
 Upon the borders of a promised Land, 
 WhiBre the obedience of the Law would find 
 A recompense that Mercy cannot give. 
 
I 
 
11 
 
 Of all the spoils of victory Life recounts 
 
 Is it then trne that nothing is her own, 
 
 4nd that by restoration she alone 
 
 To the fulfilment of possession mounts! 
 
 Is then that voice of martyr deeds, Eenouncel 
 
 The only key to victory they have known 
 
 Who have the stronghold of the willo'erthrown 
 
 And drink of power from superhuman founts'? 
 
 Ah, even such victory may be dearly bought, 
 
 And such possession, loss! O, life, no more, 
 
 Even for those glimmering principalities, 
 
 Give up the birth-right of thy freeborn thought; 
 
 Xor vex the sunshine of thy native shore 
 
 With dreams that ro re the dark surrounding seas 
 
12 
 
 Here, where not always we behold the race 
 Unto the swift, we, who by random gift 
 Of careless Natnre, are among the swift 
 And strong ennumbered,ranst assert onr place 
 Of strongest, often, by the patient grace 
 That bears with failnre. There is i)ower to lift 
 The soul of man from those dark tides that drift 
 J)espair and death to meet hiui, m tbe face 
 Of his own mercy. Ah, the task is light 
 To gi ow impatient with onrselYes,to scorn 
 bnr poor absolving, — hard indeed to figlit 
 The self-condemning from self-knowedge bum, 
 Bnt he is strongest who can most forgiA e 
 To that lost vonth he i; cr can relive. 
 
13 
 
 I, WHO am young, let me not crave too much 
 
 Thebuiden of content, not too much strain 
 
 The shining mirage of Desire to touch: 
 
 Fruition's rest is full of nameless pain. 
 
 And 3^et, O End ! O Best ! if there be such 
 
 In all the woi Id, come in the mighty reign 
 
 Of autumn on this silent inland plain. 
 
 Unto a spirit toiling over much. 
 
 I who am old, let not my heart annul 
 
 By futile hope the gain of suffering years, 
 
 Kor make the fine gold of their wisdom dull 
 
 With youth's sweet passion of unfruitful tears. 
 
 And yet, in this fair Spring, with ^N'ature's tongue, 
 
 I cry aloud, would God, I too were young. 
 
14 
 
 When they who sleep the sleep of youth awake. 
 And first discern how grievous was their f ault 
 To dream that passion might their lives exalt 
 Above the never-changing laws that make 
 Eternal change prevail, they cannot break 
 The chain of hope. Although tlieir courage halt, 
 They ever more must arm to the assault 
 Of some fierce stronghold, none m ly ever take. 
 Hope ! thou who dost our morning prayer uplift. 
 And at the eventide forsakest thy trust, 
 Ah, take the treacherous anchor from their souls ! 
 Better with winds and currents of nature drift. 
 Better in deep sea calms of knowledge to rust, 
 Than to be moored in tidal depths and shoal ^. 
 
15 
 
 Though thou hast learned the lesson of the years. 
 And mastery over ignorance, that brings 
 The deep relations of discordant things 
 To make the harmony of the living spheres ; 
 Though from ont earth and heaven unto thine ears 
 Unfold their magic awful, viewless kings 
 That reign in mountain summits and the rings 
 Of the vast seas ; yea, though thy spirit hears 
 IS^ature herself, the voice of God, the word 
 Which is the Life, if lo^^e for thine own kind — 
 So easily lost,so hard to keep or find — • 
 Abide not with thee, all that thou hast heard, 
 All thou hast seen cannot redeem thy soul; 
 Thou art no part of life's immortal whole. 
 
10 
 
 THor who dost sit Hiiiong" us at the hearth , 
 Tliou also wast with Him of Galilee, 
 The Yirgiii-horu ; — thy speech betrayeth thee ; 
 And fearing* the encounter of their mirth , 
 T , who above all the dearest things of earth 
 Have held Hiin dear, made answer sorroAvfully 
 I know Him not ; nothing is He to me — 
 Xothing the worhl-tradition of His birth. 
 Then to the Christ within my soul I said: 
 (Hoping tliat Simon's grace might still be mine' 
 j)ear Lord, to men like these can T lay bare 
 The mystic union that with thine has wed 
 My secret life? The S])irit made no sign; 
 Christ heard me not. He was no longer there. 
 
17 
 
 Xew teachers of the world, whose liberal thought 
 Would mould the weak and tunid of our race 
 In new lieroic forms of inborn grace, 
 And bay for them the truth tliat is not bought, — 
 Have ,ye not learned what miracle were wrought, 
 If, with their swift teinptations face to face. 
 The expedient lie could lightly yield its place. 
 Or inward honor were by teaching taught? 
 The minds tliat can of everything discern 
 The intrinsic worth, tliat feel the subtle line 
 Dividing trutli from falsehood,have no need 
 Of human words, but who the truth must learn 
 Would counterfeit her likeness with desire 
 To steal the birthright of a nobler breed. 
 
I 
 
18 
 
 Cease brave Philosophy, — and even thou 
 Eeligion , with what heavenly warrant pure, — 
 Who waste our strength in warfare to secure 
 Impossible peace . Stoic, or saint ! avow 
 That ye, whom definite griefs at last endow 
 With calm of resignation, have no cure 
 For those who must a life suspense endure , 
 Where Hope's uncertain tide^ no pause allow 
 For that desi)air named patience. Let us find 
 Ai3eace that need not on oar hopes depend, 
 i » Days with absorbing thought and action filled, 
 
 In which the invincible sorrows of tlie jnind 
 Xo more with that perpetual present blend 
 That man above his past may e ver build. 
 
■^5?: 
 
 T 
 
19 
 
 So long as in the starry fastness cold, 
 
 Where force and matter join in swervelcvss law, 
 
 A power unknown is throned, so long as awe 
 
 Must grow with growing knowledge, and untold 
 
 The Jnighty secret of their life enfold 
 
 The living, so long will tlie star they saw 
 
 That led tlieni to the young cliild Jesus, draw 
 
 The wise men toward hijn, aud no man withhold 
 
 A Savior human and divine. Fear not, 
 
 O small Evangelist, trutlis like these have been 
 
 In peril of loss. That God came down from heaven, 
 
 Will be a legend ever unforgot 
 
 Through the remotest ages, while men sin 
 
 Against thenivseU^es the seventy times of seven. 
 
20 
 
 We liave not lived in vain who see at last 
 
 The all loving God has known us, year by year, 
 
 That he rejoiced with us in that dear past 
 
 Wherein we did not dream that he wa^near; 
 
 Xor did refuse our hopeless call to hear, 
 
 W^hen, high enthroned in starry spaces vast, 
 
 He seemed so far. from the remorse and fear 
 
 Of mortals from their paradise outcast. 
 
 He sent His ministering angels, i»atient Time, 
 
 And Wisdom, that compel us to outlive 
 
 The death of youth. O Father ! since that prime 
 
 Of grief is past, let thy strong angels give, — 
 
 N^ot the forgetfulness of loss alone. 
 
 But of the joy whose loss we ha^^e outgrown. 
 
21 
 
 The sun has risen above the wide, grey beach, 
 The day is fair, — the morning brings a thrill 
 Of hope and courage, and more resolute will 
 The narrow way of higiier life to reach. 
 Shall not some newborn x)ower of thought or speec 
 This day the earnest dreams of faith fulfil, — 
 Transcend our thoughts of relative good and ill 
 By some eternal truth, defining each 
 With clearness no expedients that assail 
 Weak wills can darken f Oh, to be only sure 
 Of absolute right, and never more to quail 
 Before a tutored conscience,nor to endure 
 The weight that other men's convictions give 
 Our fears, life would be easier far to live. 
 

22 
 
 God speaketh and saith ; "I do remember thee 
 
 When thou wentest after me in the wilderness: 
 
 No desert could withhold thee, no distress 
 
 Of drought or fire, no perils of land or sea 
 
 Could come between tliy burning love and me ; — 
 
 Where art tliou now f Ah, Lord, the world did press 
 
 With love more dear than thine to save and bless, 
 
 With life more near than thy eternity, 
 
 With promise more than all the world could fill; 
 
 O, that I might return to thee, before 
 
 The latest days, before my heart is cold ! 
 
 ^'Eeturn, — I will have mercy on thee still 
 
 With everlasting kindness ; but no more 
 
 Canst thou draw near with that same love of old." 
 
1 
 
23 
 
 •^COME HOW and let iis reason, '\saitli the Lord: 
 Xor more transcendent reason ean we know. 
 Than that oni* scarlet sins shall be as snow; 
 That justice yields no .i>Tound, when her accord 
 With perfect mercy, stays the righteous sword 
 That spares our guilty souls. The heavens glow 
 With (me consuming tire of lore; and though 
 Inflexible meniory never hath restored 
 A stainless ])ast, and though experience, wise 
 With lessoir- of our folly, may refuse 
 A stainless future, to the spirit within. 
 Where God's eternal boundless pj eseut lies, 
 Is neither ])ast nor future : Life may choose 
 Each JHomentnew existence to begin. 
 
24 
 
 We must be born again. What they may mean, 
 
 Who spake of blood and water, and the swift 
 
 Fire of the spirit, though we may not lift 
 
 Our faithless eyes to see, we cannot screen 
 
 The indwelling sin; nor mists of pride, between 
 
 Our thought, and knowledge of the truth can drift, 
 
 That we, unless we may accept some gift 
 
 Of infinite repentance, are unclean 
 
 For evermore. No purgatorial fire, 
 
 No graded progress through celestial spheres ' 
 
 Hath logic to persuade the world, that sin 
 
 Hath not immortal guilt, nor that desire 
 
 Can take away^ that life's remaining years 
 
 From some regeneration might begin. 
 
T 
 
25 
 
 Know, thou who seest the havoc life has made 
 
 In some false soul, tliat once was true and fair, 
 
 Not more to thee is all the ruin laid bare. 
 
 Than to itself, not less of thine afraid. 
 
 Than its own condemning. Ah, betrayed 
 
 Of creeping habit, — I^ature's cunning snare 
 
 For hearts that trust lier, — who can tell what pray- 
 
 Has cried to Nature's God too late to aid! [er, 
 
 ''My yoke is eas^^, and my burden light:" 
 
 But one who his own burden long hath borne. 
 
 Who has the yoke of this world too long worn. 
 
 Loves not the freedom of the inward might: 
 
 Youth, with its ardent fire of self-control. 
 
 Alone hath will, hath power to exalt the soul. 
 
26 
 
 Is it thou who kuowest no faith, who hast no dread 
 
 Of the Nemesis of life "? Thou fool, before 
 
 Thine e>es she stands, the threshold of thy door 
 
 She enters even now with noiseless tread; 
 
 And ever when thou lay est down thy head, 
 
 She is itjWhom thou dost in vain implore 
 
 To call the illusions of the past once more. 
 
 And for these stones give back their living bread. 
 
 Thou knowest her not, — thee she has always known, 
 
 Erer pursuing, neither in sorrow nor wrath, 
 
 Thy footsteps, nor in kindness, but alone, 
 
 In silence, where thou hast ordained her path: 
 
 Mercy has no such power in the boundless heaven 
 
 As thou thyself to Nemesis hast given. 
 
2.7 
 
 StebNj narrow soul, lost in the A^ague domain 
 
 Of mystic faith; strong will by accident 
 
 Of birth, that urged by heavenly discontent 
 
 The impossible heights of perfect peace to gain 
 
 ]Mdst not prevail beyond the strife and pain 
 
 Of baffled sense; — no tribute of lament 
 
 Above thy futile toil, and grief missx)ent 
 
 Can reach thee now, where from thy high disdain 
 
 Thou liest so low. Ah, were not too much given 
 
 For thy soul's ransom, would that thou wert free 
 
 From thine eternal solace to descend, 
 
 Only to tell us what availed to heaven 
 
 Thy life of sacrifice and pain, that we 
 
 Might know of our self-pleasing years the end. 
 
2S 
 
 To walk this world with eyes forever cast 
 On the unsure fouudations of its peace, 
 Will buy of Grod no favor, nor decrease 
 The power of evil. From the in ^aolate past, 
 The world that is, the shadowed presence vast 
 Of worlds to come, since nothing can release 
 The bond of infinite oneness, let us cease 
 Our ignorant rebellion, nor contrast 
 Eternity and time, nor life and death. 
 As though we might escape from death or time 
 In that "Memento Mori.'' Though it be 
 All things are vanity, as the preacher saith, — 
 Not even mystic faith can make sublime 
 The impatience of our brief humanity. 
 
T 
 
29 
 
 In life's young consciousuess of inborn might 
 We vow, that in the changes yeais may bring, 
 Our hearts shall ever keep their tender spring, 
 That age shall never t>teal our young delight. 
 Let us then know, that of all powers, that wait 
 An endless warfare with our peace to wage, — 
 Hastening the cuirent of our youth to age, 
 No one is stronger, nor more sure than Hate. 
 Pray that ye hate not, even with zeal of right. 
 Men w^ho are hateful; lest the power grow". 
 Until of all the holiest things 3 e know, 
 Not one will more be lovely in your sight: 
 And ye are homeless strangers in your land. 
 With age and pain and sorrow nigh at hand. 
 
T 
 
30 
 
 With this eternal winter in my breast, 
 Why do these airs of spring-time, and the sound 
 Of skilful music, wake these hopes profound, 
 My heart shall have the joy it once possessed ! 
 Such joy can come no more where Fear, before. 
 In life's clear day his dark device hath spun : 
 The wrong the cunning of his hand has done. 
 The hand of Love cannot undo. Xomore 
 IN'eedhope disturb my patience, and the powers 
 That teach me to accept this wise despair. 
 Mast help me not alone the grief to bear. 
 But all the snares of these Enchanted Bowers, 
 Where echoes of the past around me pour 
 Sweet sounds of love, that can return no more. 
 
T 
 
31 
 
 Will not the omnipotent God bow down the skies 
 To my importunate prayer ? Believe not so; 
 But set thy soul to learn its task, and know 
 That all great sorrow, though our nature crias 
 Aloud for rescue, in its blind surpi ise. 
 Is but a part of the eternal flow 
 Of things that are. Iso hand, save of the slow 
 Advancing past, can grant thy prayer. How wise. 
 He who implores no sign from heaven, how brave, 
 Who dares not waste his power in vain appeal. 
 But from the shipwreck of his dearest hope 
 Whatever may be gathered, seeks to sa^^e; 
 And even from his own heart would fain conceal. 
 Of that dread loss its wide and desolate scope. 
 
32 
 
 Whether our virtues be the uncouscicus fruits 
 
 Aud organism of a balauced mind, 
 
 Or whether culture, or the favor blind 
 
 Of fair surrounding unto gold transmutes 
 
 A native evil, all our gra ^ e disputes 
 
 Will not determine. And so far declined 
 
 The Light that lit the world, how shall we find 
 
 Faith to receive the virtue He imputes! 
 
 Yet, even though your own birthright be secure 
 
 To thrones of heaven, though these laborious days 
 
 In your own vineyards, reap immortal gain. 
 
 Ah, let the righteousness of Christ endure 
 
 For those, on whom inherited failure weighs. 
 
 Who have no title of 1 heir own to reign. 
 
33 
 
 What we miist reap, that have we sowu. 41as, 
 That only when onr harvest fields are sown, 
 ]3owe first know the truth we might have known, 
 Before the day of reckoning came to pass; 
 Before the inflexible heavens were as brass 
 Above onr long remorse. Though we atone 
 To God and man, with tears that do suri>ass 
 The measure of our fault, what we ha^ e sown, 
 Remains to be the harvest we must reap; 
 And though kind Mature still hath peace in store, 
 And the long solace of the evening years; 
 Yet even He, who for His wandering sheep. 
 Laid down His life, can bring lost hope no more, 
 Nor lift the burden of our midnight tears. 
 
34 
 
 Child, that aFakestfrom thy mystic's dreani, 
 
 Whose weary will shall never more aspire 
 
 To those far heights, in whom a qnenchedfire 
 
 Of conscience, weary of her star supreme, 
 
 Shall light no more, — let not the eternal beam 
 
 Of truth, to tjiee, with that lost hope expire. 
 
 Far in the waning heavens of thy desire^ 
 
 The presence of undying love, the gleam 
 
 Of the enduring promise, thy distrust 
 
 Could never change. The penance of thy pain. 
 
 Thy exx)edient self-denial, unto Him 
 
 Who knows our frame, remembering we are dust. 
 
 Are lost indeed; — and thy endurance vain, 
 
 And all in vain, but faith, however dim. 
 
35 
 
 Ye uuto the name of Christ, your Light, 
 Your King and atouing Savior is so dear. 
 Who through these mists of time, can see so clear, 
 The Father's love on Calvary's awful height: — 
 What offering can be precioUvS in his sight, 
 What tribute of thanksgiving reach his ear 
 From 3 on, who judge the souls he, loved, nor fear 
 His secret law of absolute Wrong and Right? 
 If ye, children of faith, may suffer doubt 
 And grieve the days wherein his voice is dumb 
 Within the temple where your offerings wait, — 
 How know ye not, that ofttimes, far without 
 The gates of faith, a voice to us may come, 
 And unbelief's assurance hesitate'^ 
 
;^(i 
 
 And tlioii, wliat dost thou herel my spirit said, 
 With these dis(uj)les ot* tlie fold shut in, 
 Who hast no liope nor fear to theirs akin, 
 Who art no^ hungry for their living bread? 
 If from tliy quiet deserts of the dead, 
 TliOu wonhL'^tnnew tlie way of life begin, 
 What Lamb of God can takeaway thy sin, 
 Or give a form to faitli whose soul has fled? 
 8,ad sj)irit, — I know not wliy thou seevSt me here. 
 Only tlie well-remembered hymn and prayer 
 I he ir I igaln, half reverent, half in scorn; 
 Tlie unforgotten dream of faith drew near. 
 And fljied the<e waking nnmients, with the air 
 Of somi^ dim Eden, wliere their light was born. 
 
37 
 
 To lie in this dim summer light, with the air 
 
 Of ocean in the long sea grass, and flight 
 
 Of shining mist above me, — what delight! 
 
 I seein a part of I^ature's self, and dare. 
 
 For these briefmoments, to forget my share 
 
 In life's great tragedy of Wrong and Right, 
 
 Before the listening heavens. On what rare height, 
 
 Free from the war of conscience, from despair 
 
 Above the irretrievable years, thou reignst, 
 
 O Nature, — fair as in the dawn of earth! 
 
 Thy storms and whirlwinds never reach thy soul; 
 
 While we, forever conquered, fight against 
 
 The inevitable limit of our birth. 
 
 And learn no lesson from thy self-control . 
 
38 
 
 Tomorrow's sun will never shine for thee : 
 
 Farewell, O love, for thou must go to-night, 
 
 Forever from the darkness and the light! 
 
 If this be so, then take away from me 
 
 These sounds and sights of earth; and leave me free, 
 
 Alone in silence, with the silent night. 
 
 That ye may know not when the end may be. 
 
 Wilt thou then fear, O soul? — Ye have no right 
 
 To watch the anguish of my lingering breath 
 
 For answer. Whether seeds of terror, sown 
 
 In helpless childhood, spread their shadow drear. 
 
 Or the faint light of an immortal death 
 
 Prevail above me, — unto me alone 
 
 Belongs the hour, whose power is drawing near. 
 
39 
 
 This iiigiit thy soul will be required of thee, 
 
 This (lay thy life vshall with the day decline: 
 
 If this be so, O, world of love divine ! 
 
 (), kingdom of my Lord, where I shall see 
 
 His face in joy, through love's eternity. 
 
 And when your fair tomorrow's sun shall shine, 
 
 Although my silent presence make no sign, 
 
 Conceive what daylight must have dawned for me, 
 
 Where the new glory of God and of the Lamb 
 
 Doth make the light. And when at last ye turn 
 
 From mvcold face, let this assurance burn 
 
 Through the dread presence, that the eternal calm 
 
 Of truth is mine, and that T hold the key 
 
 To your sad problems of humanity. 
 
40 
 
 Thy night bast come at last, the starless night 
 Whose (laAvn is death. Look forward, soul of mine, 
 And all possession of thy past resign, — 
 Thy day of life, whose useless legions light 
 In vain. Because thou wilt not yield thy right 
 To hope and fear tliat are no longer thine. 
 Because thou measurest not the strength divine. 
 Therefore alone the inevitable might 
 Of de^th appals thee. Since it is too late 
 For pleasure, or for deep inistake, or sin, 
 To barter with thy fears, — let them alone; 
 And silently advance into the great 
 Approaching presence, Avhere thou shalt begin 
 To know thv.^elf as thou wert alwavs knoAvn. 
 
41 
 
 Alas for cultured lives, who know so well 
 The mechanism of souls, who claim to see 
 So clearly the original decree 
 That limits JS^ature's power, they must rebel 
 hi this new paradise where others dwell 
 Safe in the shadow of the sacred tree 
 Of infinite life, and are no longer free 
 To obey the instinct that would faith impel. 
 Ah, though conviction hath no sovereignty, 
 Nor man's experience sanction, by the law 
 Of God's organic world, no lives coutrol 
 Their springs of faith; and Immortality 
 Hath power to haunt with superstitious awe 
 The inward, hmely centre of the soul. 
 
42 
 
 When we have given up our young intent 
 
 To own the heaven and earth ; when first we know, 
 
 That the remorseless years must come and go, 
 
 Nor only for ourselves, nor to the bent 
 
 Of our desire; that life will not relent 
 
 For our mistakes of ignorance, nor bestow 
 
 Even a poor martyr name to heal our woe, — 
 
 Then first, although our prime of years be spent 
 
 Do we begin to live, to know in truth 
 
 The hidden depths of mercy; glad of heart 
 
 That life and w^ork are left us. Let us pray 
 
 For our dear children; that in the strength of youth, 
 
 They learn the wisdom we have set apart 
 
 Unto the eleventh hour of the day. 
 
4.: 
 
 Oh loving Savior, early I awake, 
 
 To call tliy naine, and in the deep of night, 
 
 To thee my soul doth wing her lonely flight, 
 
 And live with thee nntil the morning break. 
 
 Each day my sonl endureth, for the sake 
 
 Of that rare solace, that at limes, the sight 
 
 Of thine ai)i)earance nnaware, doth make, — 
 
 A sndden daysimng, that resolves in light 
 
 All earthly things and heavenly as they are. 
 
 And not as men imagine. But how slow 
 
 Am Tto learn the lesson, thanbetAveen 
 
 Those visions, thou art not withdrawn more far. 
 
 Than when thy presence bends the heaven so low. 
 
 That earth bi^comes in turn the world unseen. 
 
44 
 
 In guarded pastures have I fed, where weed 
 
 Of superstition, nor the cultured flowers 
 
 Of sacred dogma grew. The guiding powers 
 
 That watched the instiacts of my soul to plead 
 
 With Heavenly might, kept watch with zealous heed 
 
 That T saw not the impregnable walls and towers 
 
 Of angered justice, that this world of ours 
 
 Has built upon its borders. There did bleed 
 
 No Lamb of God for me; and yet, O Christ, 
 
 O, pure and lonely martyr undeflled. 
 
 Whence is it that now a nameless love is born 
 
 Within ?uy soul, before thy sacrificed 
 
 And wounded form, thy godlike presence, mild 
 
 And silent, in its resurrection mom. 
 
^o 
 
 The years were not in vain,— a lifetime, passed 
 In slow availing x)rayer to see the alone 
 Acces;sible truth, that life could not have known 
 Through less vicissitude. Eevealed at last 
 The fallacy of that mystic law, — the vast 
 Unsearchable will of God to make our own, 
 As though the absolute Glory of his throne 
 Were at the mercy of his creatures cast; 
 And fallen the mighty thrones, of dogma, wrought 
 Of human wisdom, superseding law, 
 By mercy far more legal. Xothing lies 
 Between the horizon of my earnest thought 
 And cloudless heavens, where T behold with awe 
 A sun of inconceivable wisdom rise. 
 
46 
 
 My heart is fixed: — henceforth no time, nor place, 
 
 l^or power, — no doubt that kills the soul, — no night 
 
 Of grievous trial, nor the blinding light 
 
 Of the world's day, the moments can efface. 
 
 Wherein my soul through mists of time did trace 
 
 The Son of Man. Descended from no height 
 
 Of cloud built thrones nor crowned in aureole white 
 
 Of mystic flame, but with surpassing grace 
 
 Of human life, — clear in the Eoman past, 
 
 His form arose; and I, who saw him,knew 
 
 For evermore that this indeed was He, 
 
 Whose own received him not, — the First and Last, 
 
 The word of God that maketh all things new, 
 
 The kingdom and the power and victory. 
 
47 
 
 CouLDST thou not watch one hour? Alas, he knew 
 
 Who kept that loving vigil all alone. 
 
 Above a careless world, where even his own, 
 
 His dearly loved, slept the long night time through, — 
 
 They could not watch. The unwilling sleep that grew 
 
 Upon their eyelids, hath more deeply grown 
 
 Upon our souls; — no more the sorrowing tone 
 
 Of the dear Master can our watch renew. 
 
 Choose which of these were life's unhappier fate: — 
 
 Back in the current of the world to turn. 
 
 With no pretence upon our Lord to wait: 
 
 Or to accept the watch, bring oil to burn 
 
 Until the morning, but to find at dawn. 
 
 That we have slept all night and he has gone. 
 
15 
 
 JJeep virtue hatb this cup of healing cold, 
 
 Earth's wisdom offers , that however rare 
 
 Your life's endurance seem, ye only share 
 
 A common late, — that every heart has told 
 
 Your secret of experience, in the old. 
 
 And i)itiless desert of the heavenly air! 
 
 Ah, false and vain! Xo man can lightlier bear. 
 
 That mau has borne, — nor earth's arcana hold 
 
 A virtue that hath any cure to give 
 
 Life s fatal fever. Let us rather face 
 
 The outer snow and, ice the Land of Death, 
 
 Whereof man knows not, save that God doth live 
 
 And rest therein: and from the silent space, 
 
 AYe leel Eeligion's cold, inspiring breath. 
 
49 
 
 Of the stem heaven ye make what hopeless quest! 
 Freedom to follow youriinguided will, 
 With all the assurance and the power that fill 
 Those souls alone, that in obedience rest: — 
 Freedom from loss and sorrow, with that best 
 And surest knowledge they alone instil: — 
 The heart of youth, with the unerring skill 
 To read the whole of life, that is possessed 
 Through years of insight only. Of mankind 
 Ye claim as gods, to judge and recompense 
 The good and evil, while your eyes are blind 
 To all that lies beyond your narrow sense: 
 Neither of heaven nor earth ye have the key 
 Neither in life nor death the victorv. 
 
50 
 
 It is no irreverence, friend and priest, 
 
 For thine high office, that I cannot choose, 
 
 Even in these bonds of friendship, bnt refuse 
 
 Thy gift in ministry, that my need, at leavSt, 
 
 Can minister nothing, — though it be a feast 
 
 To thousands, that in losing thee, would lose 
 
 Their bread of life. Let not thy pride accuse 
 
 Just^Nature, that some minds she has released 
 
 From that lay service, but arraign tlie blind 
 
 Though careful judgment, that through time nnkno\\ni, 
 
 Has failed to sanction that release. O friend, 
 
 Thou seest with me two lives divide mankind: 
 
 The priest's, — though priest unto himself alone, — 
 
 And his who must on priestly hel]) depend. 
 
51 
 
 He is it wlio hath made us, and not we 
 
 Ourselves ; and in one human mould is cast, — 
 
 Though with discerning justice we contrast 
 
 Our lives with others, — all humanity 
 
 He is not I'rcm the bonds of Nature free, 
 
 Who wills to be in lonely priesthood classed; 
 
 The slowest J'ears will manifest at last 
 
 The tether ofhis vaunted liberty. 
 
 For pierced by secret sin, and weak Avith pain. 
 
 Or worn with long vicissitude of fate. 
 
 The organism of his weary brain, 
 
 Will fear or superstition penetrate: 
 
 And he the nearest guide will fain receive, 
 
 And by a stranger's hope and faith believe. 
 
52 
 
 The inmost veil of heaven is rent in twain,— 
 
 Thy Lord is dead, and death has claimed his own; 
 
 The seal shall not be broken on the stone, 
 
 ISTor the stone lifted where thou hast him lain. 
 
 Hadstthou liad faith but as this living grain. 
 
 He would have lived:— but lost in death, unknown, 
 
 He sleepeth; and unto the Father's throne 
 
 The son of man will never rise again. 
 
 Now art thou strong: and thou hast need of strength, 
 
 Lest in thy plastic conscience, clear and still, 
 
 The impress of his beauty should remain. 
 
 To haunt the friendless years, and light at length 
 
 The spark of dread conviction in thy will:— 
 
 **This was the Son of God that T have slain." 
 
/ 
 
53 
 
 That thou hast reached the height of mortal joy, 
 
 Boast not of life, as though thy joy were all 
 
 Of human fate, or griefs that elsewhere fall. 
 
 Like arrows in the soul, could life destroy. 
 
 Earth will outlast our pleasure and our i)aiu; 
 
 And only after many peaceful years. 
 
 And many days and nights of anxious tears. 
 
 Can we look back, and count our loss and gain. 
 
 Then may we claim indeed a favored lot, 
 
 If of our keenest grief Ave knew^ the worst; 
 
 If in our hearts no lingering doubt is nursed, 
 
 ^o unexplained misgivings, unforgot. 
 
 Can mar the peace experience brings to life, 
 
 With distant murmur of perpetual strife. 
 
54 
 
 What serves the illusion of thy restless mind 
 That life can be uncertain of its fate? 
 Although thy weak self-mercy vacillate 
 From wise despair, to longings undefined 
 That have the form of hope, thou hast divined 
 The secret truth. Uncertainty can wait 
 Not long upon our pleasure, nor create 
 Such hope as may the inward vision blind. 
 Thou knowestthe VTorst: the best is still to learn; 
 The boundless power of life to adjust her course 
 To final truth, without the heart's consent. 
 All things that earth has given, to earth return, 
 And youth will die, but life's undying force 
 Ui)on her fair ^amenities be spent. 
 
th) 
 
 Man is a race of kings. Who that is boru, 
 
 Feels not that he shoukl have been born to rule! 
 
 Nor was designed to be the pliant tool 
 
 Of inclination, in allegiance sworn 
 
 To Nature — cruel master! Ali so shorn 
 
 Of that fair grace of kingship, in what school 
 
 Shall he attain the knowledge how to rule, 
 
 And live no longer prey of his self scorn? 
 
 Tliere is indeed a talismanic word. 
 
 That holds the gate of power and liberty, — 
 
 The word Obedience, but its magic sound, 
 
 Lost in familiar language, is unheard. 
 
 Its power unknown, to us who seek the ke^^ 
 
 Whereby dominion of tlie eartli is found. 
 
56 
 
 For that fair morn of yoiitb, — the discipliue 
 Of happy years, that hath its uses stern, 
 No less than sorrow's self, our hearts return 
 A twofold gratitude. Had life not been 
 The sum of all possession earth could win. 
 Her highest lesson had remained to learn. 
 With God's elect, the passionate fires that burn 
 Their youth to dust, are but that fire within, 
 Where the Eefiner sits; and as from dross 
 Glimmers the gold, so faith in Jesus Christ 
 From the dark alchemy of Nature springs; 
 And they are born again. The ordeal of loss 
 To acheive the perfect work had not sufficed 
 Without the wisdom earth's fruition brings. 
 
57 
 
 Is it not written : — he that will do His will 
 Shall know his doctrine? JJo not words like these 
 Pour light above thy conscience, that it sees 
 The narrow highway, winding clear and still? 
 "Ah no; — before all things availeth skill 
 Of teaching, for obedience cannot please 
 A conscience doubtful of itsowm decrees 
 And swayed by Nature: — and no man, until 
 Conviction of the perfect truth, can know 
 The perfect will." Not so darest thou reply 
 Before the courts of heaven; for deep below 
 The currents of our faltering judgments,]ie 
 The pure decisions of Eternal right, 
 The will of God, clear in the inward light. 
 
58 
 
 Why should the snulight and the moonlight shine 
 
 And idle mirth and music have their Avay, 
 
 Ami youtli and maiden boast their holiday 
 
 With song and laughter, while such grief as mine 
 
 Is in the world, — pain that no help, divine 
 
 Or human, hath the science to allay! 
 
 Ah, be thy source of sorrow what it may, 
 
 The world has seen a deeper grief than thine; 
 
 For tliere are souls whose anguish doth so weigh 
 
 Her weight upon them, that the careless play 
 
 Of life they see not, nor their ears incline 
 
 To happy voices ; — or they sadly say: — 
 
 Let music and rejoicing have their way 
 
 Because the world contains such grief as mine. 
 
59 
 
 Our Duty hath no treasure held iu store: 
 
 The happiness of every hour depends 
 
 Upon the liope and confidence she sends, 
 
 The wages of an hour gone before. 
 
 This life's continual toil can earn no more 
 
 Than to buy oil, the lamp of Duty spends; 
 
 Her yesterday a guiding ray extends, 
 
 But can the strength to follow not restore. 
 
 They who accept her service to beguile 
 
 An aching heart, will find a sure reward 
 
 In serving, but if for a little while 
 
 Their tired wills should rest, the cold regard 
 
 Of Duty will disown them, and the old pain 
 
 Unchecked of passive conscience, must remain. 
 
GO 
 
 The rigorous law that measures puuisbineut 
 
 To our unconscious sins, without regard 
 
 To helpless inexperience, or the hard 
 
 Conditions of perfection, was not sent 
 
 With the unequal justice of intent, 
 
 To punish only, but to assure and guard 
 
 For our unwilling virtues, more reward 
 
 Than waits their true deserving. One who hath 
 
 His years in toils of stern necessity, [spent 
 
 Or selfish virtue, sees the unloved restrnint 
 
 Compel a gradual patience in his soul; 
 
 And finds the triumph born of Self-control, 
 
 Silence the ignoble wailing of complaint, — 
 
 And that in true subjection, he is free. 
 
61 
 
 O RESTLE^^s Shepherd's dog, that up and down 
 Pursnest thy Master's sheep, art thon so snre 
 Thou knowest the greenest fohl, the spring* most pure 
 For every hunb? What floods so ev^er drown, 
 What beasts devour, what pastures dry and brown 
 May starve the flock, or hidden snare aUure 
 In many a tempting shelter insecure, — 
 Thou hast no heed save of thine own renown 
 For zealous service. Will, not at thy hands. 
 The Shepherd of his flock demand the sheep 
 That thou hast led from many a sheltered fold 
 Of early faith, at last to treacherous sands 
 Of dogma, whereon pours the unsounded deep 
 Of faithless human reason, dark and cold. 
 
62 
 
 RUSKIN, — the fruitless logic of thy course 
 
 To that rare sympathy doth inake ai)peal 
 
 Ofthose elect children of men, who feel 
 
 The grave relations of the eternal force 
 
 Of art to life. Thou, who the hidden source 
 
 (3f perfect beauty wouldst to men unseal, 
 
 The imperfection that no art can heal. 
 
 Didst slowly learn, with how sublime remorse. 
 
 Others have seen creation's curse with thee. 
 
 And felt the burden of the earth no less; 
 
 But from their cultured ease, few lives would dare 
 
 With thine,embark upon the hopeless sea 
 
 Of human ills, or even at heart confess 
 
 How nobler far thy hope, than their despair. 
 
da 
 
 Shall I be startled at the cry: ^^l^repare 
 
 To meet thy Godf ' To me the thought doth bring 
 
 Enduring conFolation; — not the sting 
 
 Of terror in the conscious heart, hiid bare 
 
 Before the worhl that cannot weigh nor spare. 
 
 O infinite Father of my life, O King 
 
 And Judge, — be thine in everything 
 
 The judgment and the sentence. Every prayer 
 
 Of the wakeful night goes up before thee, all 
 
 The elements that wrought our being's laws 
 
 Were woven in thy presence, and no chain 
 
 Of motives, but thy mercy shall recall. 
 
 Thy justice weigh, when thoushalt plead our cause, 
 
 Nor tax our ignorant conscience to explain. 
 
64 
 
 The long disquiet of tliy soiiFs estate, — 
 
 The fretful passiou, and the nameless pain 
 
 Thathnunts the triumph of our fairest gain 
 
 Comes from no malice of celestial fate, 
 
 But that the eternal truth has dawned too late, — 
 
 Ye cannot serve two i\li^sters. Ye remain 
 
 In half allegiance to the exacting reign 
 
 Of truth, the loving master, stern and great, 
 
 While ever}' moment brings its petty weight 
 
 Of social bondage, falsehoods that restrain 
 
 From loyal action, courteous words that feign 
 
 A willing service to the world ye hate. 
 
 Eenounce that world, — or from high truth refrain; 
 
 And neither master shall ye serve in vain 
 
65 
 
 Thou art avenged, dear child, for any wrong, 
 
 I, knowing or unknowing, might have done; 
 
 ^o penance were more deep, than thus to long 
 
 To see thy face once more beneath the sun. 
 
 Yet not to him whose chihlish years belong 
 
 To me, who saw their happy moments run. 
 
 Dare we look more; — but mito thee, thou strong 
 
 And silent Angel! who hast now begun 
 
 The eternal years of God. Oh, child and saint 
 
 Remember us, we pray tliee, who remain 
 
 Here, where no light of knowledge comes, who faint 
 
 Beneath the hope and faith that are so vain. 
 
 Thy little grave lies dark in the outer night; 
 
 Thine angel lost on some cold shining height.