Part 35 (2/2)

Come up, and feel what health there is In the frank Dawn's delighted eyes, As, bending with a pitying kiss, The night-shed tears of Earth she dries!

The Lord wants reapers: O, mount up, Before night comes, and says,--”Too late!”

Stay not for taking scrip or cup, The Master hungers while ye wait; 'Tis from these heights alone your eyes The advancing spears of day can see, Which o'er the eastern hill-tops rise, To break your long captivity.

II.

Lone watcher on the mountain-height!

It is right precious to behold The first long surf of climbing light Flood all the thirsty east with gold; But we, who in the shadow sit, Know also when the day is nigh, Seeing thy s.h.i.+ning forehead lit With his inspiring prophecy.

Thou hast thine office; we have ours; G.o.d lacks not early service here, But what are thine eleventh hours He counts with us for morning cheer Our day, for Him, is long enough, And when he giveth work to do, The bruised reed is amply tough To pierce the s.h.i.+eld of error through.

But not the less do thou aspire Light's earlier messages to preach; Keep back no syllable of fire,-- Plunge deep the rowels of thy speech.

Yet G.o.d deems not thine aeried sight More worthy than our twilight dim,-- For meek Obedience, too, is Light, And following that is finding Him.

THE CAPTIVE.

It was past the hour of trysting, But she lingered for him still; Like a child, the eager streamlet Leaped and laughed adown the hill, Happy to be free at twilight From its toiling at the mill.

Then the great moon on a sudden Ominous, and red as blood, Startling as a new creation, O'er the eastern hill-top stood, Casting deep and deeper shadows Through the mystery of the wood.

Dread closed huge and vague about her, And her thoughts turned fearfully To her heart, if there some shelter From the silence there might be, Like bare cedars leaning inland From the blighting of the sea.

Yet he came not, and the stillness Dampened round her like a tomb; She could feel cold eyes of spirits Looking on her through the gloom, She could hear the groping footsteps Of some blind, gigantic doom.

Suddenly the silence wavered Like a light mist in the wind, For a voice broke gently through it, Felt like suns.h.i.+ne by the blind, And the dread, like mist in suns.h.i.+ne, Furled serenely from her mind.

”Once my love, my love forever,-- Flesh or spirit still the same; If I missed the hour of trysting, Do not think my faith to blame.

I, alas, was made a captive, As from Holy Land I came.

”On a green spot in the desert, Gleaming like an emerald star, Where a palm-tree, in lone silence, Yearning for its mate afar, Droops above a silver runnel, Slender as a scimitar,--

”There thou'lt find the humble postern To the castle of my foe; If thy love burn clear and faithful, Strike the gateway, green and low, Ask to enter, and the warder Surely will not say thee no.”

Slept again the aspen silence, But her loneliness was o'er; Round her heart a motherly patience Wrapt its arms for evermore; From her soul ebbed back the sorrow, Leaving smooth the golden sh.o.r.e.

Donned she now the pilgrim scallop, Took the pilgrim staff in hand; Like a cloud-shade, flitting eastward, Wandered she o'er sea and land; And her footsteps in the desert Fell like cool rain on the sand.

Soon, beneath the palm-tree's shadow, Knelt she at the postern low; And thereat she knocketh gently, Fearing much the warder's no; All her heart stood still and listened, As the door swung backward slow.

There she saw no surly warder With an eye like bolt and bar; Through her soul a sense of music Throbbed,--and, like a guardian Lar, On the threshold stood an angel, Bright and silent as a star.

Fairest seemed he of G.o.d's seraphs, And her spirit, lily-wise, Blossomed when he turned upon her The deep welcome of his eyes, Sending upward to that sunlight All its dew for sacrifice.

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