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A wedding or a festival,
And this hath now his heart,
Then will be fit his tongue
But it will not be long
And with new joy and pride
As if his whole vocation
Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie
Thy Soul's immensity ; Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep Thy heritage; thou Eye among the blind, That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, Haunted for ever by the eternal mind, –
Mighty Prophet! Seer blest !
On whom those truths do rest,
O joy! that in our embers
What was so fugitive!
For that which is most worthy to be blest ;
Not for these I raise
The song of thanks and praise ;
Blank misgivings of a Creature
But for those first affections,
Those shadowy recollections,
Which, be they what they may, Are yet the fountain light of all our day, Are yet a master light of all our seeing;
Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make
To perish never;
Nor Man nor Boy,
Hence in a season of calm weather,
Though inland far we be,
Which brought us hither,
Can in a moment travel thither, And see the Children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.
Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song!
And let the young Lambs bound
As to the tabor's sound !
Ye that pipe and ye that play,
Feel the gladness of the May !
Though nothing can bring back the hour
We will grieve not, rather find
In the faith that looks through death,
Is lovely yet;
EXTRACT FROM "THE RECONCILER.”
Our dreams are reconciled, Since Thou didst come to turn them all to Truth; The World, the Heart, are dreamers in their youth
Of visions beautiful, and strange and wild ; And Thou, our Life's Interpreter, dost still At once make clear these visions and fulfil;
Each dim, sweet Orphic rhyme,
Each mythic tale sublime
Each morning dream the few,
Thou, O Friend From heaven, that madest this our heart Thine own, Dost pierce the broken language of its moan Thou dost not scorn our needs, but satisfy !
Each yearning deep and wide,
Each claim is justified ;
Within the brightness of Thy Rising, kissed
a golden mist Paling to blissful white, through rose and amethyst.
The World that puts Thee by, That opens not to greet Thee with Thy train,
That sendeth after Thee the sullen cry,
“We will not have Thee over us to reign ;" Itself doth testify through searchings vain Of Thee and of its need, and for the good It will not, of some base similitude Takes up a taunting witness, till its mood, Grown fierce o'er failing hopes, doth rend and tear Its own illusions grown too thin and bare To wrap it longer; for within the gate Where all must pass, a veiled and hooded Fate, A dark Chimera, coiled and tangled lies, And he who answers not its question dies, Still changing form and speech, but with the same Vexed riddles, Gordian-twisted, bringing shame Upon the nations that with eager cry Hail each new solver of the mystery;
Yet he, of these the best,
Bold guesser, hath but prest
True Champion, that hast wrought
Qur help of old, and brought
O Bearer of the key
We labor in the fire,
Thick smoke is round about us, through the din Of words that darken counsel, clamors dire
Ring from thought's beaten anvil, where within Two giants toil, that even from their birth With travail-pangs have torn their mother Earth, And wearied out her children with their keen Upbraidings of the other, till between Thou camest, saying, “ Wherefore do ye wrong Each other? ye are Brethren.” Then these twain Will own their kindred, and in Thee retain Their claims in peace, because Thy land is wide As it is goodly ! here they pasture free, This lion and this leopard, side by side, A little child doth lead them with a song; Now Ephraim's envy ceaseth, and no more Doth Judah anger Ephraim chiding sore, For one did ask a Brother, one a King, So dost Thou gather them in one, and bring – Thou, King forevermore, forever Priest, Thou, Brother of our own from bonds released
A Law of Liberty,
A Service making free,
And not alone these wide, Deep-planted yearnings, seeking with a cry Their meat from God, in Thee are satisfied ; But all our instincts waking suddenly Within the soul, like infants from their sleep That stretch their arms into the dark and weep, Thy voice can still. The stricken heart bereft Of all its brood of singing hopes, and left 'Mid leafless boughs, a cold, forsaken nest With snow-flakes in it, folded in Thy breast Doth lose its deadly chill; and grief that creeps Unto Thy side for shelter, finding there The wound's deep cleft, forgets its moan, and weeps Calm, quiet tears, and on Thy forehead Care Hath looked until its thorns, no longer bare, Put forth pale roses.
Pain on Thee doth press Its quivering ch 'ek, and all the weariness,