Part 2 (2/2)
The thorns are mine, and all must see, In sacrifice, and service done, The loving Lord they love in me.”
XI.
Then, through a large and golden hour She listened to the golden speech Of one who held the priceless dower Of love and eloquence, that reach And move the hearts of men with power.
Ah poor the music of the choir That voiced the Psalter after him!
And strong the prayer that, touched with fire, Flamed upward, past the seraphim, And wrapped the throne of his desire!
She watched and heard as in a dream, When, in the old, familiar ground Of sacred truth, he found his theme, And led it forth, until it wound Through meadows broad--a swollen stream
That flashed and eddied in the light, And fed the gra.s.ses at its edge, Or thundered in its onward might O'er interposing weir and ledge, And left them hidden in the white;
While on it pressed, and, to the eye, Grew broader, till its breadth became A solemn river, sweeping by, That, quick with s.h.i.+ps and red with flame, Reached far away and kissed the sky!
Strong men were moved as trees are bowed Before a swift and sounding wind; And sighs were long and sobs were loud, Of those who loved and those who sinned, Among the deeply listening crowd.
XII.
And Mildred, in the whelming tide Of thought and feeling, quite forgot That he who thus had magnified His office, held a common lot With her, and owned her as his bride.
But when, at length, the thought returned That she was his in plighted truth, And she with humbled soul discerned That, though her youth was given to youth, And love by love was fairly earned,
She could not match him wing-and-wing Through all his broad and lofty range, And feared what pa.s.sing years might bring No change for good, but only change That would degrade her to a thing
Of homely use and household care, And love by duty basely kept-- She bowed her head upon the bare Cold rail that hid her face, and wept, And poured her pa.s.sion in a prayer.
XIII.
”Oh Father, Father!” thus she prayed: ”Thou know'st the priceless boon I seek!
Before my life, abashed, dismayed, I stand, with hopeless hands and weak, Of him and of myself afraid!
”Teach me and lead me where to find, Beyond the touch of hand and lip, That vital charm of heart, and mind Which, in a true companions.h.i.+p, My feebler life to his shall bind!
”His ladder leans upon the sun: I cannot climb it: give me wings!
Grant that my deeds, divinely done, May be appraised divinest things, Though they be little every one.
”His stride is strong; his steps are high May not my deeds be little stairs That, counted swift, shall keep me nigh, Till at the summit, unawares, We stand with equal foot and eye?
”If further down toward Nature's heart His root is struck, commanding springs In whose deep life I have no part, Send me, on recompensing wings, The rain that gathers where thou art!
”Oh give me vision to divine What he with delving hand explores!
Feed me with flame that shall refine To finest gold the rugged ores His strong hands gather from the mine!
”O dearest Father! May no sloth, Or weakness of my weaker soul, Delay him in his kingly growth, Or hold him meanly from the goal That s.h.i.+nes with guerdon for us both!”
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