Volume I Part 11 (1/2)

Oh then, as children use To make themselves a little hiding-place, We would rejoice in narrowness of s.p.a.ce, And G.o.d should give us nothing more to lose.

How good it all would seem To souls that from the aeonian ebb and flow Came down to hear once more the to and fro Swing o' the clock dictate its hourly theme.

How dear the strange recall From vast antiphonies of joy and pain Beyond the grave, to these old books again, That cosy lamp, those pictures on the wall.

Home! Home! The old desire!

We would shut out the innumerable skies, Draw close the curtains, then with patient eyes Bend o'er the hearth; laugh at our memories, Or watch them crumbling in the crimson fire.

ART, THE HERALD

”The voice of one crying in the wilderness”

I

Beyond; beyond; and yet again beyond!

What went ye out to seek, oh foolish-fond?

Is not the heart of all things here and now?

Is not the circle infinite, and the centre Everywhere, if ye would but hear and enter?

Come; the porch bends and the great pillars bow.

II

Come; come and see the secret of the sun; The sorrow that holds the warring worlds in one; The pain that holds Eternity in an hour; One G.o.d in every seed self-sacrificed, One star-eyed, star-crowned universal Christ, Re-crucified in every wayside flower.

THE OPTIMIST

Teach me to live and to forgive The death that all must die Who pa.s.s in slumber through this heaven Of earth and sea and sky; Who live by grace of Time and s.p.a.ce At which their peace is priced; And cast their lots upon the robe That wraps the cosmic Christ;

Who cannot see the world-wide Tree Where Love lies bleeding still; This universal cross of G.o.d Our star-crowned Igdrasil.

Teach me to live; I do not ask For length of earthly days, Or that my heaven-appointed task Should fall in pleasant ways;

If in this hour of warmth and light The last great knell were knolled; If Death should close mine eyes to-night And all the tale be told;

While I have lips to speak or sing And power to draw this breath, Shall I not praise my Lord and King Above all else, for death?

When on a golden eve he drove His keenest sorrow deep Deep in my heart, and called it love; I did not wince or weep.