Browning and the Dramatic Monologue Part 35

"I have gone the whole round of Creation: I saw and I spoke!

I, a work of G.o.d's hand for that purpose, received in my brain And p.r.o.nounced on the rest of his handwork--returned him again His creation's approval or censure: I spoke as I saw.

I report, as a man may of G.o.d's work--all's love, yet all's law!

Now I lay down the judges.h.i.+p he lent me. Each faculty tasked To perceive him, has gained an abyss, where a dew-drop was asked.

Have I knowledge? confounded it shrivels at Wisdom laid bare.

Have I forethought? how purblind, how blank, to the Infinite care!

Do I task any faculty highest, to image success?

I but open my eyes,--and perfection, no more and no less, In the kind I imagined, full-fronts me, and G.o.d is seen G.o.d In the star, in the stone, in the flesh, in the soul and the clod.

And thus looking within and around me, I ever renew (With that stoop of the soul which in bending upraises it too) The submission of man's nothing-perfect to G.o.d's All-Complete, As by each new obeisance in spirit, I climb to his feet!

Yet with all this abounding experience, this Deity known, I shall dare to discover some province, some gift of my own.

There's one faculty pleasant to exercise, hard to hoodwink, I am fain to keep still in abeyance (I laugh as I think) Lest, insisting to claim and parade in it, wot ye, I worst E'en the Giver in one gift.--Behold! I could love if I durst!

But I sink the pretension as fearing a man may o'ertake G.o.d's own speed in the one way of love: I abstain, for love's sake!

--What, my soul? see thus far and no farther? when doors great and small, Nine-and-ninety flew ope at our touch, should the hundredth appal?

In the least things, have faith, yet distrust in the greatest of all?

Do I find love so full in my nature, G.o.d's ultimate gift, That I doubt his own love can compete with it? here, the parts s.h.i.+ft?

Here, the creature surpa.s.s the Creator, the end, what Began?-- Would I fain in my impotent yearning do all for this man, And dare doubt He alone shall not help him, who yet alone can?

Would it ever have entered my mind, the bare will, much less power, To bestow on this Saul what I sang of, the marvellous dower Of the life he was gifted and filled with? to make such a soul, Such a body, and then such an earth for insphering the whole?

And doth it not enter my mind (as my warm tears attest) These good things being given, to go on, and give one more, the best?

Ay, to save and redeem and restore him, maintain at the height This perfection,--succeed with life's day-spring, death's minute of night?

Interpose at the difficult minute, s.n.a.t.c.h Saul, the mistake, Saul, the failure, the ruin he seems now,--and bid him awake From the dream, the probation, the prelude, to find himself set Clear and safe in new light and new life,--a new harmony yet To be run and continued, and ended--who knows?--or endure!

The man taught enough by life's dream, of the rest to make sure.

By the pain-throb, triumphantly winning intensified bliss, And the next world's reward and repose, by the struggle in this.

"I believe it! 'tis Thou, G.o.d, that givest, 'tis I who receive: In the first is the last, in thy will is my power to believe.

All's one gift: thou canst grant it moreover, as prompt to my prayer As I breathe out this breath, as I open these arms to the air.

From thy will, stream the worlds, life and nature, thy dread Sabaoth: _I_ will?--the mere atoms despise me! Why am I not loath To look that, even that in the face too? Why is it I dare Think but lightly of such impuissance? what stops my despair?

This;--'tis not what man Does which exalts him, but what man Would do?

See the king--I would help him but cannot, the wishes fall through.

Could I wrestle to raise him from sorrow, grow poor to enrich, To fill up his life, starve my own out, I would--knowing which, I know that my service is perfect.--Oh, speak through me now!

Would I suffer for him that I love? So wouldst Thou--so wilt Thou!

So shall crown thee the topmost, ineffablest, uttermost Crown-- And thy love fill infinitude wholly, nor leave up nor down One spot for the creature to stand in! It is by no breath, Turn of eye, wave of hand, that Salvation joins issue with death!

As thy Love is discovered almighty, almighty be proved Thy power, that exists with and for it, of being Beloved!

He who did most, shall bear most; the strongest shall stand the most weak.

'Tis the weakness in strength that I cry for! my flesh, that I seek In the G.o.dhead! I seek and I find it. O Saul, it shall be A Face like my face that receives thee: a Man like to me, Thou shalt love and be loved by, forever! a Hand like this hand Shall throw open the gates of new life to thee! See the Christ stand!"

I know not too well how I found my way home in the night.

There were witnesses, cohorts about me, to left and to right, Angels, powers, the unuttered, unseen, the alive--the aware-- I repressed, I got through them as hardly, as strugglingly there, As a runner beset by the populace famished for news-- Life or death. The whole earth was awakened, h.e.l.l loosed with her crews; And the stars of night beat with emotion, and tingled and shot Out in fire the strong pain of pent knowledge: but I fainted not.

For the Hand still impelled me at once and supported--suppressed All the tumult, and quenched it with quiet, and holy behest, Till the rapture was shut in itself, and the earth sank to rest.

Anon at the dawn, all that trouble had withered from earth-- Not so much, but I saw it die out in the day's tender birth; In the gathered intensity brought to the gray of the hills; In the shuddering forests' new awe; in the sudden wind-thrills; In the startled wild beasts that bore off, each with eye sidling still Tho' averted, in wonder and dread; and the birds stiff and chill That rose heavily, as I approached them, made stupid with awe.

E'en the serpent that slid away silent,--he felt the new Law.

The same stared in the white humid faces upturned by the flowers; The same worked in the heart of the cedar, and moved the vine-bowers.

And the little brooks witnessing murmured, persistent and low, With their obstinate, all but hushed voices--"E'en so, it is so!"