THE LIFE DIVINE.
ENGENDER beauty in the realm of thought,
O Muse, and give to those who love the pure
And true a voice to cheer in my song divine.
From cold and worldly eyes let now the soul
Its light withdraw, and man's vague seasons end,
While on lips of roses that forever
Bloom to the casement frail of mortal life
A whisper gently comes; and from the window
Of the soul a bird, whose plumage a wand
Of glory is, radiant in celestial
Light, to the arch of Heaven resplendent, wings
Her joyous way, to shine for ever there.
At last from pain and misadventure free,
Enters man to the meed and fruitage just
Of all his hopes and longings; and cheerful
Peace and happiness secure, which softly
Tread on down of all contented love, keep
And abide in him in the eternal
Present ever. Here, in blissful Eden,
Reclaimed, and sanctified anew, a holy
Light, mild as dawning hopes, doth shine; and o'er
The countless hills and vales, with verdure sweet,
In raiment of the virgin month of May,
And fragrant with the blossom's bloom, which woo
The soul beyond the spirit's essence, until
The senses swoon with bliss ineffable
Are ever cast its chaste and hallowed beams.
The golden fibres of the twilight air,
And the modest hills, which stand like shepherds
O'er the mild and blameless vales; the mounting
Bird, who draws her song from the Gates of Light;
The gentle rain, whose drops are spirits gray
On the merry, dancing grass; the airy
Pulse of will, which on our mental vision
Plays, the love unseen, which beds its beauty
In the eye of hope: these formed the planet Man,
Ere blushed the sunset for the gaudy day.
And from their sunlit aerie in the sky
Great hosts of doves, flashing in Aurora's rays,
And surpliced bright in all the joy that flows
From seraphs' wings thro' windows high in
Paradise,
In circle wide now float a joy untiring.
And birds now sing with voices ever new;
And what their language is, in their chirp and call,
They tell us in their trill; and on the stirring
Bars and melody of sweet song they sport,
And flash and soar, and perch on rays which shape
And hold the throne of rapture's ravished spell.
Along the vistas of the day's decree-
Light or shade where joy her bower of beauty fair
Fills with children's laughing eyes, countless harps
Of gold, by countless fingers stroked and trilled,
Awake to dance, on mead and in the dells
Of sylvan green, the violet in her purple
Robe, the primrose in her golden plumes, the lily
In her vestal white, the daisy in her dappled
Hues, and the bluebell in her nodding snood.
The lovely amaranth her baton moves
To tunes of heavenly joy and magic love.
With music sweet the trees are filled, and soft
Winds touch their foliage as the dulcet keys.
And here are close entwined and intertwined
The souls that loved on earth. A flood of joy
Swoons on a mother's heart, as to her breast,
With all pervading bliss, she holds secure,
As tender arms their gentle force can wield,
Her child, lost long to her in weeping clay.
The sorrowful maid her faithful lover
Now rejoins, and marriage bells in Paradise
Ring out their silvery cadence on the air,
And every zephyr feasts the soul's delight,
And lovers' hearts abide in lilies fair.
Temples high of nuptial bliss-bliss of Heaven's
creed
And form-exalt the soul with music sweet
And song, filling the noon of faith with all
That Heaven inspires. Husband and father
To his heart, swelling with emotion proud
And warm, the loving mother fondly takes,
And the tender child; and a blessing great
Upon them bright descends, like halos golden
Around the heads of Heaven's highest angels.
The lamps of Paradise all gently sway,
Tier above tier, on beams from seraphs' eyes,
O'er the scene ambrosial light diffusing.
No wintry breath e'er chills the sportive winds;
And beauteous May, smiling in her emerald
Robes, reigns festive queen of every dawning
Sun, jeweled with the flowery hosts that flirt
Along the mead. Each day fresh buds and
flowers-
Flowers in whose balm is a prophecy
Concealed, to the waiting soul auguring
Solace their leaves to every breath unfold,
From sun to sun. A thousand mellow moons
Their glory bright outpour along the graceful
Shade, and cast their amber wealth the leafy
Boughs among. Celestial birds, with plumage
Gorgeous laden, in gay, symphonious notes,
At night sing glory to the showering
Stars. Fountains of pearl, with doves of sapphire
And jasper for every spray, o'er flowery
Beds and lawns, and the smiling hills and vales,
Let fall the soothing unction of the blest;
And with dreams seraphic kind sleep the senses
Fill; and angels near, with gently moving wings,
Guard that sweet repose.
Now rises on the morn Calm slumber's waking hour. A cymbal, tender In tone as eyes are mild in prayer, and pure And sweet as pulse of love divine upon An angel's harp, inspires to joy the kindling Lids of eyes that dawn on Heaven's glory, With strange delight to see, on pearly hinges Swing, the gates of Paradise. And those orbs, Opening wide and wider still, with wonder Still behold temples of flowing sheen, with Purple shade subdued, and, unsubstantial As a spirit fair, high on the golden bars Of mellifluous morn upborne. A balmy Incense from streams of rifted light teems forth, All senses swaying to the throne beatic, Supernal raised on song from angel choirs.
On a throne of light, rising wide beyond
The joy where thought can dwell, the Lord of
Hosts
All Paradise illumes, his gentle eyes,
Large and of cerulean hue, for ever
Bent on new and lustrous hope for the earthly
Peace of man. His face, tender and serene,
And with celestial thought imbued, and fair,
Mercy foretells to planets yet unborn.
And now the mighty Lord of all the realms
Of space, and of mysteries defiant
As the loose wind, which sows its will upon
The pregnant storm, and of all created
And uncreated things, the Holy Spirit
Assumes, oval in form, and refulgent
As the sun, still looming on the sight
Entranced, till the dazed orbs recede beneath
Their closing lids. And now softly moving,
As gentle breath of summer air along
The lily's path, in fleecy cloud embowered,
The highest spirit holy in Heaven's inmost
Temple shines, protean and multifold,
To sense insensible, as the spirit
To the thought, sharing with man the glory
And the light and beautitude immortal.
HUGH FARRAR MCDERMOTT.
I REALLY am obliged to you for bringing back my book,
It moves me much to look whereon I thought no
It minds me of the early time wherein 'twas lent to you,
When life was young, and hope was fair and this old book was new.
Evil is only the slave of Good.
Sorrow the servant of joy;
And the soul is mad that refuses food Of the meanest in God's employ.
There's not a strain to Memory dear,
Nor flower in classic grove,
There's not a sweet note warbled here,
But minds us of Thy love,
O Lord, our Lord, and spoiler of our foes, There is no light but Thine! with Thee all beauty glows.
The loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind.
The twentieth year is well-nigh past
Since first our sky was overcast:
Ah, would that this might be the last!
My Mary!
Nae man can tether time or tide.
He is retired as noon-tide dew,
Or fountain in a noon-day grove; And you must love him, ere to you He will seem worthy of your love.
Woe awaits a country when
She sees the tears of bearded men.
And this should be the human sum
Of knowledge, to know mortal nature's nothing
Bequeath that science to thy children, and
'Twill spare them many tortures.
All actual heroes are essential men, And all men possible heroes.
And Thought leapt out to wed with Thought, Ere Thought could wed itself with speech.
The world was sad! the garden was a wild! And man, the hermit, sigh'd-till woman smiled!
Withoute women were al our joye lose; Wherefore we ought alle women to obeye In all goodnesse; I can no more say.
O fairest of creation, last and best
Of all God's works, creature in whom excelled Whatever can to sight or thought be formed, Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet!
A perfect woman, nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a spirit still and bright,
With something of an angel light.
She's one, who when she fills the term for which on earth she's sent to us,
Flies back to heaven the angel that she was when she was lent to us.
O, woman! in our hours of ease,
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please
And variable as the shade
By the light quivering aspen made;
When pain and anguish wring the brow,
A ministering angel thou!
O woman! lovely woman! nature made thee
To temper man; we had been brutes without you.
Angels are painted fair, to look like you;
There's in you all that we believe of heaven;
Amazing brightness, purity and truth,
Eternal joy, and everlasting love.
The mission of woman: permitted to bruise
The head of the serpent, and sweetly infuse,
Through the sorrow and sin of earth's register'd
The blessing which mitigates all; born to nurse, And to soothe, and to solace, to help and to heal The sick world that leans on her.
O woman, born first to believe us;
Yea, also born first to forget;
Born first to betray and deceive us,
Yet first to repent and regret!
O first then in all that is human,
Lo! first where the Nazarene trod;
O woman! O beautiful woman!
Be, then, first in the kingdom of God.
217.
Women know
The way to rear up children (to be just);
They know a simple, merry, tender knack
Of tying sashes, fitting baby-shoes,
And stringing pretty words that make no sense,
And kissing full sense into empty words;
Which things are corals to cut life upon,
Although such trifles.
Auld nature swears, the lovely dears Her noblest work she classes, O; Her 'prentice han' she tried on man, And then she made the lasses, O!
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