Specimens with Memoirs of the Less-known British Poets Part 86

7 Dear, secret greenness! nursed below Tempests and winds and winter nights!

Vex not that but One sees thee grow, That One made all these lesser lights.

8 If those bright joys he singly sheds On thee, were all met in one crown, Both sun and stars would hide their heads; And moons, though full, would get them down.

9 Let glory be their bait whose minds Are all too high for a low cell: Though hawks can prey through storms and winds, The poor bee in her hive must dwell.

10 Glory, the crowd's cheap tinsel, still To what most takes them is a drudge; And they too oft take good for ill, And thriving vice for virtue judge.

11 What needs a conscience calm and bright Within itself an outward test?

Who breaks his gla.s.s to take more light, Makes way for storms into his rest.

12 Then bless thy secret growth, nor catch At noise, but thrive unseen and dumb; Keep clean, bear fruit, earn life, and watch, Till the white-winged reapers come!

CHILDHOOD.

I cannot reach it; and my striving eye Dazzles at it, as at eternity.

Were now that chronicle alive, Those white designs which children drive, And the thoughts of each harmless hour, With their content too in my power, Quickly would I make my path even, And by mere playing go to heaven.

Why should men love A wolf more than a lamb or dove?

Or choose h.e.l.l-fire and brimstone streams Before bright stars and G.o.d's own beams?

Who kisseth thorns will hurt his face, But flowers do both refresh and grace; And sweetly living (fie on men!) Are, when dead, medicinal then.

If seeing much should make staid eyes, And long experience should make wise, Since all that age doth teach is ill, Why should I not love childhood still?

Why, if I see a rock or shelf, Shall I from thence cast down myself, Or by complying with the world, From the same precipice be hurled?

Those observations are but foul, Which make me wise to lose my soul.

And yet the practice worldlings call Business and weighty action all, Checking the poor child for his play, But gravely cast themselves away.

Dear, harmless age! the short, swift span Where weeping virtue parts with man; Where love without l.u.s.t dwells, and bends What way we please without self-ends.

An age of mysteries! which he Must live twice that would G.o.d's face see; Which angels guard, and with it play, Angels! which foul men drive away.

How do I study now, and scan Thee more than ere I studied man, And only see through a long night Thy edges and thy bordering light!

Oh for thy centre and mid-day!

For sure that is the narrow way!

ABEL'S BLOOD.

Sad, purple well! whose bubbling eye Did first against a murderer cry; Whose streams, still vocal, still complain Of b.l.o.o.d.y Cain; And now at evening are as red As in the morning when first shed.

If single thou, Though single voices are but low, Couldst such a shrill and long cry rear As speaks still in thy Maker's ear, What thunders shall those men arraign Who cannot count those they have slain, Who bathe not in a shallow flood, But in a deep, wide sea of blood-- A sea whose loud waves cannot sleep, But deep still calleth upon deep; Whose urgent sound, like unto that Of many waters, beateth at The everlasting doors above, Where souls behind the altar move, And with one strong, incessant cry Inquire 'How long?' of the Most High?

Almighty Judge!

At whose just laws no just men grudge; Whose blessed, sweet commands do pour Comforts and joys and hopes each hour On those that keep them; oh, accept Of his vowed heart, whom thou hast kept From b.l.o.o.d.y men! and grant I may That sworn memorial duly pay To thy bright arm, which was my light And leader through thick death and night!

Aye may that flood, That proudly spilt and despised blood, Speechless and calm as infants sleep!

Or if it watch, forgive and weep For those that spilt it! May no cries From the low earth to high heaven rise, But what, like his whose blood peace brings, Shall, when they rise, speak better things Than Abel's doth! May Abel be Still single heard, while these agree With his mild blood in voice and will, Who prayed for those that did him kill!

RIGHTEOUSNESS.

1 Fair, solitary path! whose blessed shades The old, white prophets planted first and dressed; Leaving for us, whose goodness quickly fades, A shelter all the way, and bowers to rest;

2 Who is the man that walks in thee? who loves Heaven's secret solitude, those fair abodes, Where turtles build, and careless sparrows move, Without to-morrow's evils and future loads?

3 Who hath the upright heart, the single eye, The clean, pure hand, which never meddled pitch?

Who sees invisibles, and doth comply With hidden treasures that make truly rich?

4 He that doth seek and love The things above, Whose spirit ever poor is, meek, and low; Who simple still and wise, Still homeward flies, Quick to advance, and to retreat most slow.

5 Whose acts, words, and pretence Have all one sense, One aim and end; who walks not by his sight; Whose eyes are both put out, And goes about Guided by faith, not by exterior light.

6 Who spills no blood, nor spreads Thorns in the beds Of the distressed, hasting their overthrow; Making the time they had Bitter and sad, Like chronic pains, which surely kill, though slow.

7 Who knows earth nothing hath Worth love or wrath, But in his Hope and Rock is ever glad.

Who seeks and follows peace, When with the ease And health of conscience it is to be had.

8 Who bears his cross with joy, And doth employ His heart and tongue in prayers for his foes; Who lends not to be paid, And gives full aid Without that bribe which usurers impose.

9 Who never looks on man Fearful and wan, But firmly trusts in G.o.d; the great man's measure, Though high and haughty, must Be ta'en in dust; But the good man is G.o.d's peculiar treasure.

10 Who doth thus, and doth not These good deeds blot With bad, or with neglect; and heaps not wrath By secret filth, nor feeds Some snake, or weeds, Cheating himself--That man walks in this path.

JACOB'S PILLOW AND PILLAR.

I see the temple in thy pillar reared, And that dread glory which thy children feared, In mild, clear visions, without a frown, Unto thy solitary self is shown.

'Tis number makes a schism: throngs are rude, And G.o.d himself died by the mult.i.tude.

This made him put on clouds, and fire, and smoke; Hence he in thunder to thy offspring spoke.

The small, still voice at some low cottage knocks, But a strong wind must break thy lofty rocks.

The first true wors.h.i.+p of the world's great King From private and selected hearts did spring; But he most willing to save all mankind, Enlarged that light, and to the bad was kind.

Hence catholic or universal came A most fair notion, but a very name.

For this rich pearl, like some more common stone, When once made public, is esteemed by none.

Man slights his Maker when familiar grown, And sets up laws to pull his honour down.

This G.o.d foresaw: and when slain by the crowd, Under that stately and mysterious cloud Which his death scattered, he foretold the place And form to serve him in should be true grace, And the meek heart; not in a mount, nor at Jerusalem, with blood of beasts and fat.

A heart is that dread place, that awful cell, That secret ark, where the mild Dove doth dwell, When the proud waters rage: when heathens rule By G.o.d's permission, and man turns a mule, This little Goshen, in the midst of night And Satan's seat, in all her coasts hath light; Yea, Bethel shall have t.i.thes, saith Israel's stone, And vows and visions, though her foes cry, None.

Thus is the solemn temple sunk again Into a pillar, and concealed from men.

And glory be to his eternal name, Who is contented that this holy flame Shall lodge in such a narrow pit, till he With his strong arm turns our captivity!

But blessed Jacob, though thy sad distress Was just the same with ours, and nothing less; For thou a brother, and bloodthirsty too,

Didst fly,[1] whose children wrought thy children's woe: Yet thou in all thy solitude and grief, On stones didst sleep, and found'st but cold relief; Thou from the Day-star a long way didst stand, And all that distance was law and command.

But we a healing Sun, by day and night, Have our sure guardian and our leading light.

What thou didst hope for and believe we find And feel, a Friend most ready, sure, and kind.

Thy pillow was but type and shade at best, But we the substance have, and on him rest.

[1] Obadiah 10; Amos i, 11.

THE FEAST.