Part 22 (1/2)

Ah! facts are good, and reason's good, But fancy's stronger far; In weal or woe we only know We know not what we are.

The sunset seems a raging fire, the clouds roll back, afraid; The rainbow seems a broken lyre on which the storm has play'd.

V.

But these, ye urge, are outward signs.

Such signs are not for you.

The sight's deceiv'd and truth bereav'd By diamonds of the dew.

The sage's mind is more refined, his rapture more complete; He almost knows the little rose that blossoms at his feet!

VI.

The sage can kill a thousand things, And tell the names of all; And wrench away the wearied wings Of eagles when they fall; And calmly trace the lily's grace, or fell the strongest tree, And almost feel, if not reveal, the secrets of the sea.

VII.

But can he set, by day or night, The clock-work of the skies?

Or bring the dead man back to sight With soul-invested eyes?

Can he describe the ways of life, the wondrous ways of death, And whence it came, and what the flame that feeds the vital breath?

VIII.

If he could do such deeds as these, He might, though poor and low, Explain the cause of Nature's laws, Which none shall ever know; He might recall the vanish'd years by lifting of his hand, And bid the wind go north or south to prove what he has plann'd.

IX.

But G.o.d is just. He burdens not The shoulders of the sage; He pities him whose sight is dim; He turns no second page.

There are two pages to the book. We men have read the one; The other needs a spirit-look, in lands beyond the sun.

X.

The other needs a poet's eye, Like that of Milton blind; The light of Faith which cannot die, Though doubts perplex the mind; The eyesight of a little child; a martyr's eye in dole, Which sees afar the golden star that s.h.i.+nes upon the soul!

A PRAYER FOR LIGHT.

I.

Oh, give me light, to-day, or let me die,-- The light of love, the love-light of the sky,-- That I, at length, may see my darling's face One minute's s.p.a.ce.