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Title: Pan and Æolus: Poems
Author: Charles Hamilton Musgrove
Release date: November 26, 2008 [eBook #27333]
Language: English
Credits: Produced by David Garcia, Stephen Blundell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PAN AND ÆOLUS: POEMS ***
POEMS
BY
Charles Hamilton Musgrove
JOHN P. MORTON & COMPANY
INCORPORATED
LOUISVILLE, KENTUCKY
Copyright, 1913,
By Charles Hamilton Musgrove.
CONTENTS
| Page | |
| A Fugue of Hell | 1 |
| Hymn of the Tomb Builders | 7 |
| The Tornado | 10 |
| Voices | 12 |
| A Song for the Hills | 14 |
| Romany | 15 |
| Idols | 16 |
| Ode to the New Century | 18 |
| A Clown's Prelude | 21 |
| A Legend of Gold | 22 |
| The Eagle and the Flower | 23 |
| Sunset in the City | 24 |
| The Admiral's Return | 25 |
| The Dungeoned Anarchist | 26 |
| At the Play | 27 |
| The Derelict | 28 |
| Zoroaster | 29 |
| The North Wind | 31 |
| Where is God? | 32 |
| The Story of Moses | 34 |
| Parthenope to Ulysses | 36 |
| Death | 37 |
| The Light Celestial | 38 |
| Cupid to a Skull | 39 |
| The Passing Race | 40 |
| Kenotaphion | 42 |
| The Red Cross | 43 |
| Midsummer Noon | 44 |
| The Snow Man | 45 |
| Our Sister of the Streets | 46 |
| The Earthworm and the Star | 48 |
| The Riddle of the Sphinx | 49 |
| The Mothers | 50 |
| In the Night | 51 |
| Forgiven | 52 |
| A Woman, and some Men | 53 |
| The Newly Dead | 55 |
| The First Born | 56 |
| The Voice of the North | 57 |
| To C. 33 | 59 |
| Silence | 60 |
| Columbus' Last Voyage | 61 |
| Atonement | 62 |
| The Poet Shepherd | 63 |
| Our Daily Bread | 64 |
| A Mother to the Sea | 65 |
| The Feast of the Passions | 66 |
| The Human World | 68 |
| The Vow Forsworn | 69 |
| Confession | 70 |
| Love and Art | 71 |
| The Song of the Dynamo | 73 |
| The Gold Fields | 76 |
| The Woman Answers | 77 |
| The Monastery | 78 |
| The Passion Play | 79 |
| Instruments | 83 |
| Quatrains | 84 |
| Immutability | 86 |
| The Fettered Vultures | 87 |
| The Dead Child | 89 |
| Night in May | 90 |
| De Profundis | 91 |
PAN AND ÆOLUS
A FUGUE OF HELL.
I.
I dreamed a mighty dream. It seemed mine eyes
Sealed for the moment were to things terrene,
And then there came a strange, great wind that blew
From undiscovered lands, and took my soul
And set it on an uttermost peak of Hell
Amid the gloom and fearful silences.
Slowly the darkness paled, and a weird dawn
Broke on my wondering vision, and there grew
Uncanny phosphorescence in the air
Which seemed to throb with some great vital spell
Of mystery and doom. With aching eyes
I gazed, and lo! the dreadful scene evolved,
Black and chaotic, like an awful birth
To Desolation, of a lifeless world!
My soul in agony cried out to God,
When of a sudden all the place grew calm,
Save for the trembling of the mountain peaks
And the low moaning of the billowy winds
Among the abysses. Dull lights here and there
Kindled, like wreckage of a city razed
By vandals, and the inky sky cupped up
Into a black, impenetrable roof....
But now from out the chaos there arose
Another sound more fearful than the wail
Of tempest, or the quake of mighty hills—
A mortal cry, a human voice in Hell!
Sealed for the moment were to things terrene,
And then there came a strange, great wind that blew
From undiscovered lands, and took my soul
And set it on an uttermost peak of Hell
Amid the gloom and fearful silences.
Slowly the darkness paled, and a weird dawn
Broke on my wondering vision, and there grew
Uncanny phosphorescence in the air
Which seemed to throb with some great vital spell
Of mystery and doom. With aching eyes
I gazed, and lo! the dreadful scene evolved,
Black and chaotic, like an awful birth
To Desolation, of a lifeless world!
My soul in agony cried out to God,
When of a sudden all the place grew calm,
Save for the trembling of the mountain peaks
And the low moaning of the billowy winds
Among the abysses. Dull lights here and there
Kindled, like wreckage of a city razed
By vandals, and the inky sky cupped up
Into a black, impenetrable roof....
But now from out the chaos there arose
Another sound more fearful than the wail
Of tempest, or the quake of mighty hills—
A mortal cry, a human voice in Hell!
II.
The infernal glare grew brighter, and there came
Unto mine ears the sound of many tongues,
Mingling discordant curse with bitter cry
Of lamentation. On the outer marge
Of Hell's domains, set one at each of four
Far sundered corners, four volcanoes grim
Spewed up their flaming bowels into a sea
Of blackness whence no light could issue forth.
Beyond this fierce horizon, farther yet
Than vision's wing could bear my gaze, I knew
Hell's desolate kingdoms stretched their iron wastes,
Hell's burning mountains waved their brands of flame,
Hell's lava rivers plunged in fury down
Their adamantine beds.
Unto mine ears the sound of many tongues,
Mingling discordant curse with bitter cry
Of lamentation. On the outer marge
Of Hell's domains, set one at each of four
Far sundered corners, four volcanoes grim
Spewed up their flaming bowels into a sea
Of blackness whence no light could issue forth.
Beyond this fierce horizon, farther yet
Than vision's wing could bear my gaze, I knew
Hell's desolate kingdoms stretched their iron wastes,
Hell's burning mountains waved their brands of flame,
Hell's lava rivers plunged in fury down
Their adamantine beds.
The human cry
Deepened,—the stunning babel shrieked and roared
As though some mighty revolution swept
The flying hosts along—some pang too keen
For the immortal and transcendent pains
Of Hell to quench, was burning in their souls.
Deepened,—the stunning babel shrieked and roared
As though some mighty revolution swept
The flying hosts along—some pang too keen
For the immortal and transcendent pains
Of Hell to quench, was burning in their souls.
III.
Slowly mine eyes pierced through the pallid light
That crowned the awful place, and then I saw
That which shall not be seen of mortal eye
Until the final day. I saw the vast
Black concourse of Inferno pouring in
From Hell's four sides, and gathering at the base
Of a stupendous mountain whose great crest
Towered high above the glare, and lost itself
In blackness. Never met such throng before
In Hell or Heaven. Flowing round the mount
Like a huge deluge, from afar they came,
And near. A dreadful sound was on mine ears,
As when the first great call of deep to deep
Broke on the natal silence, or as when
The wailing cry of universal death
Shall shake the pillars of eternity!
That crowned the awful place, and then I saw
That which shall not be seen of mortal eye
Until the final day. I saw the vast
Black concourse of Inferno pouring in
From Hell's four sides, and gathering at the base
Of a stupendous mountain whose great crest
Towered high above the glare, and lost itself
In blackness. Never met such throng before
In Hell or Heaven. Flowing round the mount
Like a huge deluge, from afar they came,
And near. A dreadful sound was on mine ears,
As when the first great call of deep to deep
Broke on the natal silence, or as when
The wailing cry of universal death
Shall shake the pillars of eternity!
Still came the multitudes, and still the sea
Of human souls surged round the iron base
Of that mysterious mountain, while afar
The dim circumference was added to
With newer legions. Conquerors of old,
Armored and visored in resplendent steel,
Galloped on Hell-steeds, that with one great bound
Cleared bottomless cañons; then the kings and queens
Of Babylon, shorn of their lofty state,
Came abject, and with terror in those eyes
That once outshone the world; and after them,
Myriads who reveled at the feast of life,
And when the reeling stupor of their wine
Had loosened, woke and found their souls in Hell.
Of human souls surged round the iron base
Of that mysterious mountain, while afar
The dim circumference was added to
With newer legions. Conquerors of old,
Armored and visored in resplendent steel,
Galloped on Hell-steeds, that with one great bound
Cleared bottomless cañons; then the kings and queens
Of Babylon, shorn of their lofty state,
Came abject, and with terror in those eyes
That once outshone the world; and after them,
Myriads who reveled at the feast of life,
And when the reeling stupor of their wine
Had loosened, woke and found their souls in Hell.
IV.
What horrid crisis, then, I thought, can bring
The infernal minions to assemble here
Within the shadow of this gloomy peak
That seems to thrust aloft its fearful head
Even to God's footstool? Then as if there came
Answer direct to my soul's questioning,
A great voice lifted from the throng, which seemed
To bear up heaven-high its might of words,
Crying: "Thou wan inheritors of pain,
Angels and princes, ministers of Hell,
Hearken! The day of all great days is come,
Commemorative of that legend old
Whose prophecy is that when the time has run
A million æons out, if God relent,
A symbol shall be set upon the top
Of yonder mount—a blazing star—to tell
That hope is not yet dead. O powers of night,
Children of woe and darkness! not again
Shall Hell know such a gathering as this
Until, if hope be not forever fled,
The day of our redemption shall arrive!"
The voice ceased and a murmur ran through Hell,
A fearful whisper, scarcely breathing, "Hope!"
Then louder, as when storms begin to blow,
Gusty and fitful, and the word was "Hope!"
Then, rising like a tempest, swelling high
In vast crescendo, swept the human cry,
And all Hell's thunderous gamut answered "Hope!"
The infernal minions to assemble here
Within the shadow of this gloomy peak
That seems to thrust aloft its fearful head
Even to God's footstool? Then as if there came
Answer direct to my soul's questioning,
A great voice lifted from the throng, which seemed
To bear up heaven-high its might of words,
Crying: "Thou wan inheritors of pain,
Angels and princes, ministers of Hell,
Hearken! The day of all great days is come,
Commemorative of that legend old
Whose prophecy is that when the time has run
A million æons out, if God relent,
A symbol shall be set upon the top
Of yonder mount—a blazing star—to tell
That hope is not yet dead. O powers of night,
Children of woe and darkness! not again
Shall Hell know such a gathering as this
Until, if hope be not forever fled,
The day of our redemption shall arrive!"
The voice ceased and a murmur ran through Hell,
A fearful whisper, scarcely breathing, "Hope!"
Then louder, as when storms begin to blow,
Gusty and fitful, and the word was "Hope!"
Then, rising like a tempest, swelling high
In vast crescendo, swept the human cry,
And all Hell's thunderous gamut answered "Hope!"
V.
The shouts ceased, and the exultation died
Slowly into a sort of empty wail,
Half hope and half despair, for still the sign
Had not yet blazed upon their eager eyes.
Then as I sat in wondering agony,
Praying, yet fearing, for the greatest cause
That ever souls of men in balance set
'Gainst everlasting doom, there rose again
The voice of their great leader, Lucifer,
The rebel angel, and outcast of God:
"Lo, hosts of Hell," he cried, "inheritors
Of death diurnal, strangely mingled with
Relentless life, what shall we say to God
Who waits and watches? Shall we pray or curse,
Implore or threaten? Can we move Him thus?
Burn not the lightnings yet in His right hand
With which He struck us to confusion once?
And laughs He not in thunderbolts the same
As once pursued our howling flight to Hell?
Befits it rather, think ye not, my hosts,
That we should send on high in one accord
A mighty threnody—a hymn of Hell,
Inspired by pain and sung in bitterest woe,
As our best offering,—and await His word?"
Slowly into a sort of empty wail,
Half hope and half despair, for still the sign
Had not yet blazed upon their eager eyes.
Then as I sat in wondering agony,
Praying, yet fearing, for the greatest cause
That ever souls of men in balance set
'Gainst everlasting doom, there rose again
The voice of their great leader, Lucifer,
The rebel angel, and outcast of God:
"Lo, hosts of Hell," he cried, "inheritors
Of death diurnal, strangely mingled with
Relentless life, what shall we say to God
Who waits and watches? Shall we pray or curse,
Implore or threaten? Can we move Him thus?
Burn not the lightnings yet in His right hand
With which He struck us to confusion once?
And laughs He not in thunderbolts the same
As once pursued our howling flight to Hell?
Befits it rather, think ye not, my hosts,
That we should send on high in one accord
A mighty threnody—a hymn of Hell,
Inspired by pain and sung in bitterest woe,
As our best offering,—and await His word?"
He ceased, and for the moment all was still;
Then plaintive as the rhythmic dawn of stars
Upon a night of sorrow, rose a strain
Of lamentation, such as when the sea
Makes moan unto an earthquake's inward throes.
Then circling outward passed the rising tones
Of that sad minstrelsy, and then again
Backward it swept like a great tidal wave
Of anguish, all Hell's anarchy of grief
Set to a sounding fugue. Grim-throated rose
The awful hymn, and mingling with the wail
Of voices, pealed the cymbals' brassy clang;
The thunderous organs bellowed through the gloom,
And, rocking Hell's foundations, burst a blare
Of stormy trumpets crying: "Woe, woe, woe!"
Methought the angels must have wept to hear,
Methought their tears had dropt like healing rain
Upon the fires of torment, and assuaged
Their blazing wrath, so piteous was the strain.
Then plaintive as the rhythmic dawn of stars
Upon a night of sorrow, rose a strain
Of lamentation, such as when the sea
Makes moan unto an earthquake's inward throes.
Then circling outward passed the rising tones
Of that sad minstrelsy, and then again
Backward it swept like a great tidal wave
Of anguish, all Hell's anarchy of grief
Set to a sounding fugue. Grim-throated rose
The awful hymn, and mingling with the wail
Of voices, pealed the cymbals' brassy clang;
The thunderous organs bellowed through the gloom,
And, rocking Hell's foundations, burst a blare
Of stormy trumpets crying: "Woe, woe, woe!"
Methought the angels must have wept to hear,
Methought their tears had dropt like healing rain
Upon the fires of torment, and assuaged
Their blazing wrath, so piteous was the strain.
The music ceased, the echoes sobbed away
Like a tumultuous sorrow, when, behold!
The black veil lifted from the mountain's crest,
And on its glorious summit flamed the Star!
Like a tumultuous sorrow, when, behold!
The black veil lifted from the mountain's crest,
And on its glorious summit flamed the Star!
HYMN OF THE TOMB BUILDERS.
They were three old men with hoary hair
And beards of wintry gray,
And they digged a grave in the yellow soil,
And they crooned this song as they plied their toil,
In the fading light of day:
And beards of wintry gray,
And they digged a grave in the yellow soil,
And they crooned this song as they plied their toil,
In the fading light of day:
Hither ye bring your workmen,
Like tools that are broken and bent,
To pay your due to their cunning
After their skill is spent;
Hither ye bring them and lay them,
And go when your prayers are said,
Back where the stress of your living
Makes mock of the peace of your dead.
Like tools that are broken and bent,
To pay your due to their cunning
After their skill is spent;
Hither ye bring them and lay them,
And go when your prayers are said,
Back where the stress of your living
Makes mock of the peace of your dead.
From the iron-paved roads of traffic,
From the shell-scarred fields of war,
From the lands of earth's burning girdle
To the snows of her uttermost star,
Ye bring in your sons and daughters
From the glare and the din of today,
Giving them back unto silence,
And sealing their lips with clay.
From the shell-scarred fields of war,
From the lands of earth's burning girdle
To the snows of her uttermost star,
Ye bring in your sons and daughters
From the glare and the din of today,
Giving them back unto silence,
And sealing their lips with clay.
Some drunk with the wine of carnage,
Some clothed with the shreds of power,
Some stark from the fields of famine,
Some decked for the pleasaunce bower,
And all with their still clay fingers
To their cold clay bosoms laid
To sleep from æon to æon
At the lowly Sign of the Spade.
Some clothed with the shreds of power,
Some stark from the fields of famine,
Some decked for the pleasaunce bower,
And all with their still clay fingers
To their cold clay bosoms laid
To sleep from æon to æon
At the lowly Sign of the Spade.
Afar through the quickening ages
Fell the first keen notes of strife,
And they held out their hands in the darkness
Toward that blatant boon called life;
And they heard the building of empires,
And the restless trampling of men,
And the dust that was made for heartbreak
Grew poignant even then.
Fell the first keen notes of strife,
And they held out their hands in the darkness
Toward that blatant boon called life;
And they heard the building of empires,
And the restless trampling of men,
And the dust that was made for heartbreak
Grew poignant even then.
Your bones they are moist with marrow,
And with milk your breasts are full;
Your hands they are strong and subtle,
And your life-blood never dull;
But fail at the sword or the plowshare,
Or fall at the forge or the wheel,
And ye only mar earth's bosom
With a wound that her dust will heal.
And with milk your breasts are full;
Your hands they are strong and subtle,
And your life-blood never dull;
But fail at the sword or the plowshare,
Or fall at the forge or the wheel,
And ye only mar earth's bosom
With a wound that her dust will heal.
Hither ye bring your workmen,
And it's ever the tale retold
Of the useless tools of the builders,
Battered and broken and old;
Hither ye bring them and lay them,
And go when your prayers are said,
For the blood of your living is dearer
Than the idle dust of your dead.
And it's ever the tale retold
Of the useless tools of the builders,
Battered and broken and old;
Hither ye bring them and lay them,
And go when your prayers are said,
For the blood of your living is dearer
Than the idle dust of your dead.
They were three old men with hoary hair
And beards of wintry gray,
And they shouldered their spades, for their work was done,
And they left behind at the set of sun
A grave in the yellow clay.
And beards of wintry gray,
And they shouldered their spades, for their work was done,
And they left behind at the set of sun
A grave in the yellow clay.
THE TORNADO.
God let me fall from His hand
One day at His forge when the elemental world
Was shaping. I am but a breath from His great bellows,
But here among the workshops of mankind
I am a fateful scourge.
One day at His forge when the elemental world
Was shaping. I am but a breath from His great bellows,
But here among the workshops of mankind
I am a fateful scourge.
I tear red strips from the proud cities of men;
I name my passage the Highway of Instant Death;
I splinter world-old forests with my laugh,
And whirl the ancient snows of Hecla sheer into Orion's eyes.
I dance on the deep under the big Indian stars,
And wrap the water spout about my sinuous hips
As a dancer winds her girdle. The ocean's horrid crew,
The octopus, the serpent, and the shark, with the heart of a coward,
Plunge downward when they hear my feet above on the sea-floor,
And hide in their slimy coverts. Brave men pray upon the straining decks
Till comes my mood to end them, and I strew the racing foam with wreckage.
I name my passage the Highway of Instant Death;
I splinter world-old forests with my laugh,
And whirl the ancient snows of Hecla sheer into Orion's eyes.
I dance on the deep under the big Indian stars,
And wrap the water spout about my sinuous hips
As a dancer winds her girdle. The ocean's horrid crew,
The octopus, the serpent, and the shark, with the heart of a coward,
Plunge downward when they hear my feet above on the sea-floor,
And hide in their slimy coverts. Brave men pray upon the straining decks
Till comes my mood to end them, and I strew the racing foam with wreckage.
I am a breath from God's forge. I remember His awful workshop,
How the hot globes spun off into infinite darkness, as system by system,
The universe was wrought; and then I remember the birth of the sun,
How God cried: "Let there be light!" and, blinding, bewildering, exulting,
The great orb flamed from His furnace, and only the Creator stood upright.
In that hour I fell from His hand.
How the hot globes spun off into infinite darkness, as system by system,
The universe was wrought; and then I remember the birth of the sun,
How God cried: "Let there be light!" and, blinding, bewildering, exulting,
The great orb flamed from His furnace, and only the Creator stood upright.
In that hour I fell from His hand.
I am a breath from God's forge,
And, being a part of creation, I shall also be a part of the end.
He has told me that there shall come a day
When the Seventh Angel shall open his last vial of wrath in the mid-air,
And in that day I shall dance with the thunder, the lightning, and the earthquake,
And, dancing, hear His voice cry out from Heaven's temple: "It is done!"
And, being a part of creation, I shall also be a part of the end.
He has told me that there shall come a day
When the Seventh Angel shall open his last vial of wrath in the mid-air,
And in that day I shall dance with the thunder, the lightning, and the earthquake,
And, dancing, hear His voice cry out from Heaven's temple: "It is done!"
VOICES.
Earthquake.
I am a memory of cosmogony,
That first great hour of travail when the voice
Of God called suns and systems from the void;
I am the dream He dreams of that last day
When mountains by the roots shall be plucked up
And headlong flung into the raging sea!
That first great hour of travail when the voice
Of God called suns and systems from the void;
I am the dream He dreams of that last day
When mountains by the roots shall be plucked up
And headlong flung into the raging sea!
Hurricane.
I am the breath that fills the organ pipes
When through the vast cathedral of the world
Death's stormy threnody sweeps, wave on wave,
The symboled note that one day will be blown
By a great angel standing in the sun,
At which the heaven and earth shall pass away!
When through the vast cathedral of the world
Death's stormy threnody sweeps, wave on wave,
The symboled note that one day will be blown
By a great angel standing in the sun,
At which the heaven and earth shall pass away!
Fire.
I am the letters of that fateful word
Writ with a flaming sword above the gates
Of Eden when God spelled the doom of man;
I am the wrath that on the judgment day
Shall waste the seas, and wither up the stars,
And roll the heavens together like a scroll!
Writ with a flaming sword above the gates
Of Eden when God spelled the doom of man;
I am the wrath that on the judgment day
Shall waste the seas, and wither up the stars,
And roll the heavens together like a scroll!
God.
I am the earthquake, hurricane and fire!
Through them I speak with man as through the stars,
The dews, the flowers, and every gentler thing;
Some learn my lesson in the paths of peace;
Some con it low at desolation's knee;
Only the fool hath said: "There is no God!"
Through them I speak with man as through the stars,
The dews, the flowers, and every gentler thing;
Some learn my lesson in the paths of peace;
Some con it low at desolation's knee;
Only the fool hath said: "There is no God!"
A SONG FOR THE HILLS.
Here is the freedom men die for,—die for but never know;
Here is the peace they pray for shrined in eternal snow;
Down on the plain the city moans with a human cry,
But here there is naught but silence,—peace, and the wide, wide sky.
Here is the peace they pray for shrined in eternal snow;
Down on the plain the city moans with a human cry,
But here there is naught but silence,—peace, and the wide, wide sky.
Here are the dawn's first footfalls, and the twilight's last farewell,
The benediction of starlight, and the moon's sweet canticle;
Here is one spot as God made it, far from the plainsman's range,
Or the march of the cycling seasons with their everlasting change.
The benediction of starlight, and the moon's sweet canticle;
Here is one spot as God made it, far from the plainsman's range,
Or the march of the cycling seasons with their everlasting change.
Down on the plain the city moans with a human cry,
And the man-gnomes delve and burrow for gold till they drop and die;
But here there is naught for conquest and the spoiler stands at bay,
For God still keeps one playground where He and His whirlwinds play.
And the man-gnomes delve and burrow for gold till they drop and die;
But here there is naught for conquest and the spoiler stands at bay,
For God still keeps one playground where He and His whirlwinds play.
ROMANY.
The city frets in the distance, lass,
The city so grim and gray,
A glare in the sky by night, my lass,
And a blot on the sky by day;
But we are out on the long white road,
And under the wide free sky,
And the song that was born in my heart today
Will sing there till I die.
The city so grim and gray,
A glare in the sky by night, my lass,
And a blot on the sky by day;
But we are out on the long white road,
And under the wide free sky,
And the song that was born in my heart today
Will sing there till I die.
The long white road and the wide free sky,
And the city far away;
A good-night kiss in the twilight, lass,
And a kiss at the break of day;
For light are the loads we bear, my lass,
By highway and hill and grove,
And the sunlight is all for life, my lass,
And the starlight all for love.
And the city far away;
A good-night kiss in the twilight, lass,
And a kiss at the break of day;
For light are the loads we bear, my lass,
By highway and hill and grove,
And the sunlight is all for life, my lass,
And the starlight all for love.
IDOLS.
I.
Mouths have they, but they speak not:
Yet something in the certainty of faith
To their disciples saith:
"Believe on me and vengeance I will wreak not."
The word that conquers death—
The immutable and boundless gift of grace—
Dwells in that stony face,
And every supplication answereth.
Mouths have they, but they speak not;
Yet one supernal will that shapes to suit
A great decree that can not be belied
Utters from voiceless lips those creeds that guide
The tribes that never heard
The living, saving Word,—
That have their dead gods and are satisfied.
Yet something in the certainty of faith
To their disciples saith:
"Believe on me and vengeance I will wreak not."
The word that conquers death—
The immutable and boundless gift of grace—
Dwells in that stony face,
And every supplication answereth.
Mouths have they, but they speak not;
Yet one supernal will that shapes to suit
A great decree that can not be belied
Utters from voiceless lips those creeds that guide
The tribes that never heard
The living, saving Word,—
That have their dead gods and are satisfied.
II.
Eyes have they, but they see not:
Yet the pagan builds his shrine,
And keeps his fires divine
Forever bright, nor darkly doubts there be not
Enough of grace and power
Within those eyes that glower
To read his soul. To him they are not blind,
For some dim, undefined
Reward of faith that thrills his untaught breast
Links up his baser mind
To the clear eyes of God that burn behind
The stony brow. It is a creed professed
Before a deity not quenched in space,
But one to whom his bands
Can lift adoring hands,
And see and touch and worship face to face.
Yet the pagan builds his shrine,
And keeps his fires divine
Forever bright, nor darkly doubts there be not
Enough of grace and power
Within those eyes that glower
To read his soul. To him they are not blind,
For some dim, undefined
Reward of faith that thrills his untaught breast
Links up his baser mind
To the clear eyes of God that burn behind
The stony brow. It is a creed professed
Before a deity not quenched in space,
But one to whom his bands
Can lift adoring hands,
And see and touch and worship face to face.
III.
Ears have they, but they hear not:
Yet the heathen kneel and pray,
Nor in their madness say:
"Thou art no god, and therefore I will fear not;
What if I disobey?
Thou art but stone or clay."
They hear not, but their worshippers impute
Them faculties to suit
The divination of the prayers they say;
And Christ, who understands
His children in all lands
When from the dark their dying souls have cried,
Shrines His great heart of love within the clod
The savage calls his god
And all idolatry is deified.
Yet the heathen kneel and pray,
Nor in their madness say:
"Thou art no god, and therefore I will fear not;
What if I disobey?
Thou art but stone or clay."
They hear not, but their worshippers impute
Them faculties to suit
The divination of the prayers they say;
And Christ, who understands
His children in all lands
When from the dark their dying souls have cried,
Shrines His great heart of love within the clod
The savage calls his god
And all idolatry is deified.
ODE TO THE NEW CENTURY.
The dial has pointed the hour and the hour has rounded the day,
The day has finished the year that dies with a century's birth;
Eastward the morning stars sing as they go their way:
"Lo! the Great Mother travaileth, a king is born to the earth!
King of a hundred years, and king of a million tombs,
Sovereign of infinite joys, keeper of countless tears;
Peace to the throneless dead, hail to the ruler who comes,
King of a million tombs, and king of a hundred years!"
The day has finished the year that dies with a century's birth;
Eastward the morning stars sing as they go their way:
"Lo! the Great Mother travaileth, a king is born to the earth!
King of a hundred years, and king of a million tombs,
Sovereign of infinite joys, keeper of countless tears;
Peace to the throneless dead, hail to the ruler who comes,
King of a million tombs, and king of a hundred years!"
Time and his tenant Death, for the space of a moment's flight
Stand on the bare, black ridge dividing eternities twain;
One looks back to his realm all waste in the hopeless night,
One with the eyes of hope sees it rebuilded again.
Behind are the gray, gleaned fields with their worthless stubble of graves,
Strewn with the thistles of sin, and the trampled chaff of desire;
Before are the acres of love, not furrowed by hands of slaves,
Not sown with sorrow and strife, not wasted with flood or with fire.
Stand on the bare, black ridge dividing eternities twain;
One looks back to his realm all waste in the hopeless night,
One with the eyes of hope sees it rebuilded again.
Behind are the gray, gleaned fields with their worthless stubble of graves,
Strewn with the thistles of sin, and the trampled chaff of desire;
Before are the acres of love, not furrowed by hands of slaves,
Not sown with sorrow and strife, not wasted with flood or with fire.
Great is the hour, my Soul, and great is the wonder to see;
Prophet-like dost thou look to yonder portentous sky
Where lo! the scroll is unfolding—the scroll of the great To Be:—
Look to the east, O Soul, and clear and strong be thine eye!
Look to the west where once waved the cherubic sword
Over man's Eden lost, and see in the heavens above
Not the angels of wrath bearing God's angry word,
But the angels of Mercy and Peace, the angels of Hope and of Love.
Prophet-like dost thou look to yonder portentous sky
Where lo! the scroll is unfolding—the scroll of the great To Be:—
Look to the east, O Soul, and clear and strong be thine eye!
Look to the west where once waved the cherubic sword
Over man's Eden lost, and see in the heavens above
Not the angels of wrath bearing God's angry word,
But the angels of Mercy and Peace, the angels of Hope and of Love.
Great is the hour, O Soul, and great are the voices to hear—
Voices of choral stars, and the calling of deep unto deep
Like to the natal hour when rolling sphere upon sphere
Sprang from the bosom of God and sang of their limitless sweep!
Great is the hour, O Soul, and thou art a seer who looks
Far through the mystic night and seeth the great unseen,
Truth that to us is blind, and the lies of our prophets' books,
Heaven and Hell and the land called Life that lies between.
Voices of choral stars, and the calling of deep unto deep
Like to the natal hour when rolling sphere upon sphere
Sprang from the bosom of God and sang of their limitless sweep!
Great is the hour, O Soul, and thou art a seer who looks
Far through the mystic night and seeth the great unseen,
Truth that to us is blind, and the lies of our prophets' books,
Heaven and Hell and the land called Life that lies between.
The region of shapes called Life, with shadows behind and before—
Shadows voiceless as Death, and dark as the sunless tomb,—
Shapes whose anguish and strife seem a glimpse of Hell's grim shore—
Shadows that gave them life and shadows that hail them home.
Great is the hour, O Soul, and great is the wonder to see!
Thou art alone with God as he writes on the future's page
Two words in letters of fire—(one Doom,—one Mystery,—
Alpha the last, and the first Omega) and names it an Age.
Shadows voiceless as Death, and dark as the sunless tomb,—
Shapes whose anguish and strife seem a glimpse of Hell's grim shore—
Shadows that gave them life and shadows that hail them home.
Great is the hour, O Soul, and great is the wonder to see!
Thou art alone with God as he writes on the future's page
Two words in letters of fire—(one Doom,—one Mystery,—
Alpha the last, and the first Omega) and names it an Age.
[December 31, 1900.]
A CLOWN'S PRELUDE.
Behold! I cover up this trail of tears
A moment's weakness left upon my cheek,
And hush my heart a little ere I speak
Lest the false note ring true on other ears;
The music rises and the empty cheers
Proclaim the harlequin, and lo! I stand
The painted fool again and kiss my hand
With jocund air to Folly's worshippers.
So day by day life's bitter bread is earned
With lips that smile and frame the mirthless joke,
And frailer grows the soul that once was strong,—
The joyless soul of one whose trade has turned
Life's tragic mantle to a jester's cloak,
Life's diapason to a jester's song.
A moment's weakness left upon my cheek,
And hush my heart a little ere I speak
Lest the false note ring true on other ears;
The music rises and the empty cheers
Proclaim the harlequin, and lo! I stand
The painted fool again and kiss my hand
With jocund air to Folly's worshippers.
So day by day life's bitter bread is earned
With lips that smile and frame the mirthless joke,
And frailer grows the soul that once was strong,—
The joyless soul of one whose trade has turned
Life's tragic mantle to a jester's cloak,
Life's diapason to a jester's song.
A LEGEND OF GOLD.
Lucifer craved one boon of God
After his fall, as his own to hold;
So He gave him a mite in heaven's sight,
But lo! the gift that He gave was—Gold.
After his fall, as his own to hold;
So He gave him a mite in heaven's sight,
But lo! the gift that He gave was—Gold.
And Lucifer wrought with the rugged ore
Till he fashioned it wondrous fair, and then
He set a price on the precious store,
And the price was the blood and tears of men.
Till he fashioned it wondrous fair, and then
He set a price on the precious store,
And the price was the blood and tears of men.
Blood and tears! and the price was paid;
Blood was nothing, and tears were free;
And Lucifer smiled at the fools and said:
"Surely your souls should belong to me!"
Blood was nothing, and tears were free;
And Lucifer smiled at the fools and said:
"Surely your souls should belong to me!"
So he offered the earth with its golden heart,
And the seas with their fleets from pole to pole;
And they looked with lust on the world-wide mart,
And said in their hearts,—"It is worth the soul!"
And the seas with their fleets from pole to pole;
And they looked with lust on the world-wide mart,
And said in their hearts,—"It is worth the soul!"
And kings were they, and they ruled right well;
Gorgeously sped their sovereign day ...
But Lucifer hath their souls in Hell,
And their gold and their empires—where are they?
Gorgeously sped their sovereign day ...
But Lucifer hath their souls in Hell,
And their gold and their empires—where are they?