Part 8 (1/2)

Pride that died and darkness that grew!

This is the song I began to wreathe ...

Ah, but G.o.d remembered,--it is not true!

_And you--you live, you breathe!_

AFTER

(Introductory Poem)

I

On Sunday in the sunlight With brightness round her strown And murmuring beauty of the sky At last her very own, She who had loved all children And all high things and clean Turned away to silentness And bliss unseen.

Rending, blinding anguish, Is all a man can know; Yet still I kneel beside her For she would have it so, Kneel and pray beside her In light she left behind-- Light and love in silentness, Sight to the blind.

Oh living light burn through me!

Oh speak, as spoke to me Her deep sweet eyes and faithful, Voice on Calvary!

Oh light be near and s.h.i.+ning, Nearer than I guess, And teach me that true language Of silentness!

II

If now I fall away From faith, may never day s.h.i.+ne as it shone With inmost sanct.i.ties Of those sun-glittering trees-- We two alone.

The darkness toils and heaves.

The Wood of Glittering Leaves You gave--you gave, Dearest in life and death, Dearest with every breath, Lamp of the brave!

You came in sunlight, still As G.o.d, with Whom your will Was always one.

You knew me, and you knew I read your presence through That sacred sun.

League upon league of light, As the train raced the night, With night on me, With pain that gripped and wrung As the cars clashed and swung,-- I yet could see

The slim trees of that wood Brighter than tears or blood, Fairy with day; That dark marsh land made bright, Veiled in miraculous light,-- Your way!

I hold it fast. I hold All that mysterious gold, All that it weaves Of Heaven to understand-- Our radiant bridal land Of glittering leaves.

III

Honest hands to help, honest eyes to see, Light that lives in G.o.d: Such our dearest was, such will ever be Under Heaven.

Nothing in this life gives to you and me Such a sunlight-shod, Sunlight-crowned delight in our memory As was given.

There was not a harm in these roaring hours That could touch Her head Perfect was Her charm borne against the powers Gnas.h.i.+ng still.

In her heart a field laughed with golden flowers Where Her soul could tread.

Swift, serene, she pa.s.sed all that snarls and cowers, White of will.

Song can give her nothing. We who brave the night Say Her name again Raise it like a cup full of sacred light Up to Heaven.

Now we know our pain blinding, burning bright In the world of men.