Papers from Overlook House Part 11

At last the spirit took their souls away, And in their cottage lay their lifeless clay; Their bodies changed--and insects they became-- Green as the gra.s.s--but still their cry the same.

Hence in all trees, we hear in starry night, The contradiction, and the wordy fight.

We hear John Jones, and his unhappy wife, And all their brood forever in a strife: And Katy did, and Katy didn't still Are sounds incessant as a murmuring rill.

V.

_THE IMAGE-MAKER._

DWELLER ON EARTH.

Thou dwellest here, beneath this dome, A Pilgrim, far from thine own home.

Where is thine heart, and where thy land?

Thou longest for some distant strand.

We have thy love and gentle care, Thou bearest blessings every where.

Yet day and night, and light and shade Shall with less labor one be made,

Than thou in sympathy be one With us, who through our course will run, Laden with cares, with pleasures worn, Children of hope to sorrow born.

Thou hast our speech, our garb, our toil, Well known, yet stranger on our soil.

Some deeper hidden life is thine, As if we saw the tortuous vine

'Mid veiling branches intertwine; Swinging in air its precious fruit, While the deep mould has hid its root; From view its highest honors lost,

'Mid the oak leaves in murmurs tost, A secret work thy endless task, Thy endless care, of that we ask.

PILGRIM.

I seek to form an Image here.

DWELLER ON EARTH.

Thou art a Sculptor! Yet our ear Doth catch no sound of chisel stroke, No hammer clang--no marble broke.

PILGRIM.

The silence of Eternity Around my work doth ever lie.

When marbles into dust shall fall, And human art no fame befall,

The sun no more its beams shall give To statues seeming half to live, Beauty no more on genius wait, Which copying seemeth to create;

When heaven and earth shall pa.s.s away, When breaketh everlasting day, Then shall the Image that I form, Appear 'mid nature's dying storm.

The Image that no human skill Could fas.h.i.+on, or Archangel's will; No angel mind the model give Of that which shall forever live.

At that great day it shall be known, The Image of the Eternal One.

VI.

_THE CLOUDS._

The clouds that drift, are slowly drawn To that glorious sun at dawn.

Darkened mists, and now so bright, Resplendent in the morning light; In borrowed glory,--spreading flame, G.o.d's fiery pillar still they frame.

So I,--in dark night once astray Through boundless grace have found my way, To thee,--the Sun of Righteousness, Whose wings are healing in distress.

From thee I trust, the dawning gleam Hath made me more than I can seem; Hath made me thine, in joy, in tears, Thy pardoned one,--one all whose fears

Are silenced in thy cross-wrung groan, Buried beneath thy tomb's vast stone, Which angels' hands alone can move.

Earth has this pure work for their love.

Oh let thy glory s.h.i.+ne on me, Armed in thy purest panoply.

My s.h.i.+eld, the Lamb, the cross it bears, Let me not weep its stain with tears!

The gathering waters fill each cloud; The mountain's burnished tops they shroud.

They spread o'er valley, over plain, Rich with G.o.d's blessings in the rain; On good and evil both they fall, In the vast care of G.o.d for all.

So Lord, thy servant thus prepare, To bear thy mercies everywhere.

When in the grave mine ashes sleep, When o'er it, sad a friend may weep,

Thou wilt not suffer it be said,-- His life was scarce accredited By Him who sits upon the throne,-- By Him who bore our sins alone, Who wills our holy walk on earth, As sons of G.o.d, of heavenly birth, Who will have none disciples here Unless their cross with zeal they bear.

Life without Christ! That is but death.

Prayer without Christ!--but idle breath: And love for man, but vanity Save at the cross 'tis learnt by me.

Oh help thy branch, thou heavenly Vine.

Union with thee is life divine, And cl.u.s.tered fruits are ever mine,

If from beneath alone we gaze, Thy providence a darkened maze.

Rise on wings of faith and prayer, And then what love and wisdom there!

So brightness of unbroken day Upon those clouds doth heavenward lay Though we can trace no single ray, Who look from earth. Yet angels see The glory as a silver sea.

VII.

_THE PROTECTOR DYING._