THANK God, bless God, all ye who suffer not
More grief than ye can weep for. That is well-
That is light grieving! lighter, none befell,
Since Adam forfeited the primal lot.
Tears! what are tears? The babe weeps in its cot,
The mother singing; at her marriage-bell,
The bride weeps; and before the oracle
Of high-faned hills, the poet hath forgot
That moisture on his cheeks. Thank God for grace,
Whoever weep; albeit, as some have done,
Ye grope tear-blinded, in a desert place,
And touch but tombs,—look up! Those tears will run Soon, in long rivers, down the lifted face,
And leave the vision clear for stars and sun.
I TELL you, hopeless grief is passionless-
That only men incredulous of despair,
Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air,
Beat upward to God's throne in loud access
Of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness
In souls, as countries, lieth silent-bare
Under the blenching, vertical eye-glare
Of the absolute Heavens. Deep-hearted man, express
Grief for thy Dead in silence like to death;
Most like a monumental statue set
In everlasting watch and moveless woe,
Till itself crumble to the dust beneath.
Touch it the marble eyelids are not wet-
If it could weep, it could arise and go.
WHEN Some beloved voice, that was to you
Both sound and sweetness, faileth suddenly,
And silence against which you dare not cry,
Aches round you like a strong disease and new-
What hope? what help? what music will undo
That silence to your sense? Not friendship's sigh—
Not reason's subtle count. Not melody
Of viols, nor of pipes that Faunus blew—
Not songs of poets, nor of nightingales,
Whose hearts leap upward through the cypress trees
To the clear moon; nor yet the spheric laws
Self-chanted, nor the angels' sweet All hails,
Met in the smile of God. Nay, none of these.
Speak THOU, availing Christ !—and fill this pause.
SPEAK low to me, my Saviour, low and sweet
From out the hallelujahs, sweet and low,
Lest I should fear and fall, and miss Thee so
Who art not missed by any that entreat.
Speak to me as to Mary at Thy feet-
And if no precious gums my hands bestow,
Let my tears drop like amber, while I go
In reach of Thy divinest voice complete
In humanest affection-thus, in sooth,
To lose the sense of losing! As a child,
Whose song-bird seeks the wood for evermore,
Is sung to in its stead by mother's mouth;
Till, sinking on her breast, love-reconciled,
He sleeps the faster that he wept before.
AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED TO E. J.
EXPERIENCE, like a pale musician, holds
A dulcimer of patience in his hand;
Whence harmonies we cannot understand,
Of God's will in His worlds, the strain unfolds
In sad, perplexed minors. Deathly colds
Fall on us while we hear and countermand
Our sanguine heart back from the fancy-land,
With nightingales in visionary wolds.
We murmur,- -“Where is any certain tune
Or measured music, in such notes as these?"
But angels, leaning from the golden seat,
Are not so minded: their fine ear hath won
The issue of completed cadences;
And, smiling down the stars, they whisper-SWEET.
WHAT are we set on earth for? Say, to toil-
Nor seek to leave thy tending of the vines,
For all the heat o' the day, till it declines,
And Death's mild curfew shall from work assoil.
God did anoint thee with His odorous oil,
To wrestle, not to reign; and He assigns
All thy tears over, like pure crystallines,
For younger fellow-workers of the soil
To wear for amulets. So others shall
Take patience, labour, to their heart and hand,
From thy hand, and thy heart, and thy brave cheer,
And God's grace fructify through thee to all.
The least flower, with a brimming cup, may stand,
And share its dew-drop with another near.
AND, O beloved voices, upon which
Ours passionately call, because erelong
Ye brake off in the middle of that song
We sang together softly, to enrich
The poor world with the sense of love, and witch
The heart out of things evil,-I am strong,—
Knowing ye are not lost for aye among
The hills, with last year's thrush. God keeps a niche
In Heaven, to hold our idols and albeit
He brake them to our faces, and denied
That our close kisses should impair their white,—
I know we shall behold them raised, complete,-
The dust shook from their beauty,-glorified
New Memnons singing in the great God-light.
Two sayings of the Holy Scriptures beat
Like pulses, in the church's brow and breast;
And, by them, we find rest in our unrest,
And, heart-deep in salt tears, do you entreat
God's fellowship, as if on Heavenly seat.
The first is, JESUS WEPT,-whereon is prest
Full many a sobbing face that drops its best
And sweetest waters on the record sweet :-
And one is, where the Christ denied and scorned
LOOKED UPON PETER. Oh, to render plain,
By help of having loved a little, and mourned,—
That look of sovran love and sovran pain,
Which He who could not sin, yet suffered, turned
On him who could reject, but not sustain !
THE Saviour looked on Peter. Ay, no word-
No gesture of reproach! The Heavens serene,
Though heavy with armed justice, did not lean
Their thunders that way.
Looked only, on the traitor.
What that look was;
The forsaken Lord
None record
none guess: even those who
have seen
Wronged lovers loving through a death-pang keen,
Or pale-cheeked martyrs smiling to a sword,
Have missed Jehovah at the judgment-call.
And Peter, from the height of blasphemy-
"I never knew this man "-did quail and fall,
As knowing straight THAT GOD,-and turnèd free,
And went out speechless from the face of all,
And filled the silence, weeping bitterly.
I THINK that look of Christ might seem to say-
"Thou Peter! art thou then a common stone
Which I at last must break My heart upon,
For all God's charge to His high angels may
Guard my foot better? Did I yesterday
Wash thy feet, My beloved, that they should run
Quick to deny Me 'neath the morning-sun,-
And do thy kisses, like the rest, betray?—
The cock crows coldly.-Go, and manifest
A late contrition, but no bootless fear!
For when thy deathly need is obdurest,
Thou shalt not be denied, as I am here-
My voice, to God and angels, shall attest,
Because I KNOw this man, let him be clear."
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