Life Without and Life Within; or, Reviews, Narratives, Essays, and Poems.
Gives all that we can know of bliss;
And this sweet spirit of content
Finds every where its food."
"O, wise one!" said the eagle, deeper still
Into himself retiring;
"O wisdom, thou speakest as a dove!"
TO A FRIEND, WITH HEARTSEASE.
Content in purple lustre clad,
Kingly serene, and golden glad;
No demi hues of sad contrition,
No pallors of enforced submission;
Give me such content as this,
And keep a while the rosy bliss.
ASPIRATION.
LINES WRITTEN IN THE JOURNAL OF HER BROTHER R. F. F.
Foreseen, forespoken not foredone,--
Ere the race be well begun,
The prescient soul is at the goal,
One little moment binds the whole;
Happy they themselves who call
To risk much, and to conquer all;
Happy are they who many losses,
Sore defeat or frequent crosses,
Though these may the heart dismay,
Cannot the sure faith betray;
Who in beauty bless the Giver;
Seek ocean on the loveliest river;
Or on desert island tossed,
Seeing Heaven, think nought lost.
May thy genius bring to thee
Of this life experience free,
And the earth vine's mysterious cup,
Sweet and bitter yield thee up.
But should the now sparkling bowl
Chance to slip from thy control,
And much of the enchanted wine
Be spilt in sand, as 'twas with mine,
Let blessings lost being consecration,
Change the pledge to a libation.
For the Power to whom we bow
Has given his pledge, that, if not now,
They of pure and steadfast mind,
By faith exalted, truth refined,
Shall hear all music, loud and clear,
Whose first notes they ventured here.
Then fear not thou to wind the horn
Though elf and gnome thy courage scorn;
Ask for the castle's king and queen,
Though rabble rout may come between,
Beat thee, senseless, to the ground,
In the dark beset thee round;
Persist to ask, and they will come.
Seek not for rest a humbler home,
And thou wilt see what few have seen,
The palace home of king and queen.
THE ONE IN ALL.
There are who separate the eternal light
In forms of man and woman, day and night;
They cannot bear that God be essence quite.
Existence is as deep a verity:
Without the dual, where is unity?
And the "I am" cannot forbear to be;
But from its primal nature forced to frame
Mysteries, destinies of various name,
Is forced to give what it has taught to claim.
Thus love must answer to its own unrest;
The bad commands us to expect the best,
And hope of its own prospects is the test.
And dost thou seek to find the one in two?
Only upon the old can build the new;
The symbol which you seek is found in you.
The heart and mind, the wisdom and the will,
The man and woman, must be severed still,
And Christ must reconcile the good and ill.
There are to whom each symbol is a mask;
The life of love is a mysterious task;
They want no answer, for they would not ask.
A single thought transfuses every form;
The sunny day is changed into the storm,
For light is dark, hard soft, and cold is warm.
One presence fills and floods the whole serene;
Nothing can be, nothing has ever been,
Except the one truth that creates the scene.
Does the heart beat,--that is a seeming only;
You cannot be alone, though you are lonely;
The All is neutralized in the One only.
You ask _a_ faith,--they are content with faith;
You ask to have,--but they reply, "IT hath."
There is no end, and there need be no path.
The day wears heavily,--why, then, ignore it;
Peace is the soul's desire,--such thoughts restore it;
The truth thou art,--it needs not to implore it.
_The Presence_ all thy fancies supersedes,
All that is done which thou wouldst seek in deeds,
_The_ wealth obliterates all seeming needs.
Both these are true, and if they are at strife,
The mystery bears the one name of _Life_,
That, slowly spelled, will yet compose the strife.
The men of old say, "Live twelve thousand years,
And see the end of all that here appears,
And Moxen[45] shall absorb thy smiles and tears."
These later men say, "Live this little day.
Believe that human nature is the way,
And know both Son and Father while you pray;
And one in two, in three, and none alone,
Letting you know even as you are known,
Shall make the you and me eternal parts of one."
To me, our destinies seem flower and fruit
Born of an ever-generating root;
The other statement I cannot dispute.
But say that Love and Life eternal seem,
And if eternal ties be but a dream,
What is the meaning of that self-same _seem_?
Your nature craves Eternity for Truth;
Eternity of Love is prayer of youth;
How, without love, would have gone forth your truth?
I do not think we are deceived to grow,
But that the crudest fancy, slightest show,
Covers some separate truth that we may know.
In the one Truth, each separate fact is true;
Eternally in one I many view,
And destinies through destiny pursue.
This is _my_ tendency; but can I say
That this my thought leads the true, only way?
I only know it constant leads, and I obey.
I only know one prayer--"Give me the truth,
Give me that colored whiteness, ancient youth,
Complex and simple, seen in joy and ruth.
Let me not by vain wishes bar my claim,
Nor soothe my hunger by an empty name,
Nor crucify the Son of man by hasty blame.
But in the earth and fire, water and air,
Live earnestly by turns without despair,
Nor seek a home till home be every where!"
A GREETING.
Thoughts which come at a call
Are no better than if they came not at all;
Neither flower nor fruit,
Yielding no root
For plant, shrub, or tree.
Thus I have not for thee
One good word to say,
To-day,
Except that I prize thy gentle heart,
Free from ambition, falsehood, or art,
And thy good mind,
Daily refined,
By pure desire
To fan the heaven-seeking fire:
May it rise higher and higher;
Till in thee
Gentleness finds its dignity,
Life flowing tranquil, pure and free,
A mild, unbroken harmony.
LINES TO EDITH, ON HER BIRTHDAY.
If the same star our fates together bind,
Why are we thus divided, mind from mind?
If the same law one grief to both impart,
How couldst thou grieve a trusting mother's heart?
Our aspiration seeks a common aim;
Why were we tempered of such differing frame?
But 'tis too late to turn this wrong to right;
Too cold, too damp, too deep, has fallen the night.
And yet, the angel of my life replies,
Upon that night a morning star shall rise,
Fairer than that which ruled thy temporal birth,
Undimmed by vapors of the dreamy earth.
It says, that, where a heart thy claim denies,
Genius shall read its secret ere it flies;
The earthly form may vanish from thy side,
Pure love will make thee still the spirit's bride.
And thou, ungentle, yet much loving child,
Whose heart still shows the "untamed haggard wild,"
A heart which justly makes the highest claim,
Too easily is checked by transient blame.
Ere such an orb can ascertain its sphere,
The ordeal must be various and severe;
My prayer attend thee, though the feet may fly;
I hear thy music in the silent sky.
LINES
WRITTEN IN HER BROTHER R. F. F.'S JOURNAL.
"Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright, for the end of that
man is peace."--_Psalms_ xxxvii. 37.
The man of heart and words sincere,
Who truth and justice follows still,
Pursues his way with conscience clear,
Unharmed by earthly care and ill.
His promises he never breaks,
But sacredly to each adheres;
Honor's straight path he ne'er forsakes,
Though danger in the way appears.
He never boasts, will ne'er deceive,
For vanity nor yet for gain;
All that he says you may believe;
For worlds he would not conscience stain.
If he desires what others do,
And they deserve it more than he,
He gives to them what is their due,
Happy in his humility.
Not to his friends alone he's kind,
But his foes too with candor sees;
Not to their good intentions blind,
Though hopeless their dislike t' appease.
His eyes are clear, his hands are pure,
To God it is his constant prayer
That, be he rich or be he poor,
He never may wrong actions dare.
If rich, he to the suffering gives
All he can spare, and thinks it just,
That, since he by God's bounty lives,
He should as steward hold his trust.
If poor, he envies not; he knows
How covetousness corrupts the heart,
Whatever a just God bestows
Receiving as his proper part.
O Father, such a man I'd be;
Like him would act, like him would pray:
Lead me in truth and purity
To win thy peace and see thy day.
ON A PICTURE REPRESENTING THE DESCENT FROM THE CROSS.
BY RAPHAEL.
Virgin Mother, Mary mild!
It was thine to see the child,
Gift of the Messiah dove,
Pure blossom of ideal love,
Break, upon the "guilty cross,"
The seeming promise of his life;
Of faith, of hope, of love, a loss,
Deepened all thy, bosom's strife,
Brow down-bent, and heart-strings torn,
Fainting, by frail arms upborne.
All those startled figures show,
That they did not apprehend
The thought of Him who there lies low,
On whom those sorrowing eyes they bend.
They do not feel this holiest hour;
Their hearts soar not to read the power,
Which this deepest of distress
Alone could give to save and bless.
Soul of that fair, now ruined form,
Thou who hadst force to bide the storm,
Must again descend to tell
Of thy life the hidden spell;
Though their hearts within them burned,
The flame rose not till he returned.
Just so all our dead ones lie;
Just so call our thoughts on high;
Thus we linger on the earth,
And dully miss death's heavenly birth.
THE CAPTURED WILD HORSE.[46]
On the boundless plain careering,
By an unseen compass steering,
Wildly flying, reappearing,--
With untamed fire their broad eyes glowing,
In every step a grand pride showing,
Of no servile moment knowing,--
Happy as the trees and flowers,
In their instinct cradled hours,
Happier in fuller powers,--
See the wild herd nobly ranging,
Nature varying, not changing,
Lawful in their lawless ranging.
But hark! what boding crouches near?
On the horizon now appear
Centaur-forms of force and fear.
On their enslaved brethren borne,
With bit and whip of tyrant scorn,
To make new captives, as forlorn.
Wildly snort the astonished throng,
Stamp, and wheel, and fly along,
Those centaur-powers they know are strong.
But the lasso, skilful cast,
Holds one only captive fast,
Youngest, weakest--left the last.
How thou trembledst then, Konick!
Thy full breath came short and thick,
Thy heart to bursting beat so quick;
Thy strange brethren peering round,
By those tyrants held and bound,
Tyrants fell,--whom falls confound!
With rage and pity fill thy heart;
Death shall be thy chosen part,