Volume Iii Part 20 (1/2)
Smiles on thee, on me, on all, Who became an infant small, Infant smiles are his own smiles: Heaven and earth to peace beguiles.
_William Blake._
THE VIRGIN MARY TO THE CHILD JESUS.
But see, the Virgin blest Hath laid her babe to rest.
_Milton._
I.
Sleep, sleep, mine Holy One!
My flesh, my Lord!--what name? I do not know A name that seemeth not too high or low, Too far from me or heaven.
My Jesus, that is best! that word being given By the majestic angel whose command Was softly as a man's beseeching said, When I and all the earth appeared to stand In the great overflow Of light celestial from his wings and head.
Sleep, sleep, my saving One!
II.
And art Thou come for saving, baby-browed And speechless Being--art Thou come for saving?
The palm that grows beside our door is bowed By treadings of the low wind from the south, A restless shadow through the chamber waving: Upon its bough a bird sings in the sun; But Thou, with that close slumber on thy mouth, Dost seem of wind and sun already weary.
Art come for saving, O my weary One?
III.
Perchance this sleep that shutteth out the dreary Earth-sounds and motions, opens on Thy soul High dreams on fire with G.o.d; High songs that make the pathways where they roll More bright than stars do theirs; and visions new Of Thine eternal nature's old abode.
Suffer this mother's kiss, Best thing that earthly is, To guide the music and the glory through, Nor narrow in Thy dream the broad upliftings Of any seraph wing!
Thus, noiseless, thus. Sleep, sleep, my dreaming One!
IV.
The slumber of His lips meseems to run Through my lips to mine heart; to all its s.h.i.+ftings Of sensual life, bring contrariousness In a great calm. I feel, I could lie down As Moses did, and die,[M]--and then live most.
I am 'ware of you, heavenly Presences, That stand with your peculiar light unlost, Each forehead with a high thought for a crown, Unsunned i' the suns.h.i.+ne! I am 'ware. Yet throw No shade against the wall! How motionless Ye round me with your living statuary, While through your whiteness, in and outwardly, Continual thoughts of G.o.d appear to go, Like light's soul in itself! I bear, I bear, To look upon the dropt lids of your eyes, Though their external s.h.i.+ning testifies To that beat.i.tude within, which were Enough to blast an eagle at his sun.
I fall not on my sad clay face before ye; I look on His. I know My spirit which dilateth with the woe Of His mortality, May well contain your glory.
Yea, drop your lids more low, Ye are but fellow-wors.h.i.+ppers with me!
Sleep, sleep, my wors.h.i.+pped One!
V.
We sate among the stalls at Bethlehem.
The dumb kine from their fodder turning them, Softened their horned faces To almost human gazes Towards the newly born.
The simple shepherds from the star-lit brooks Brought visionary looks, As yet in their astonished hearing rung The strange, sweet angel-tongue.
The magi of the East, in sandals worn, Knelt reverent, sweeping round, With long pale beards their gifts upon the ground, The incense, myrrh and gold, These baby hands were impotent to hold.