"FLOWER IN THE CRANNIED WALL." FLOWER in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies:- I hold you here, root and all, in my hand, SELECTIONS FROM "IN MEMORIAM." A. H. HALLAM. OBIT MDCCCXXXIII. STRONG Son of God, immortal Love Thine are these orbs of light and shade, Thou wilt not leave us in the dust: Thou madest man, he knows not why; Thou seemest human and divine, The highest, holiest manhood, thou: Our little systems have their day; They have their day and cease to be: We have but faith: we cannot know: Let knowledge grow from more to more, But more of reverence in us dwell; That mind and soul, according well, May make one music as before, But vaster. We are fools and slight; We mock thee when we do not fear: But help thy foolish ones to bear; Help thy vain worlds to bear thy light. Forgive what seem'd my sin in me; Forgive my grief for one removed, Forgive these wild and wandering cries, Confusions of a wasted youth: Forgive them where they fail in truth, And in thy wisdom make me wise. 1. I held it truth, with him who sings But who shall so forecast the years IV. To Sleep I give my powers away; O heart, how fares it with thee now, Something it is which thou hast lost, Such clouds of nameless trouble cross V. I sometimes hold it half a sin But, for the unquiet heart and brain, In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er, 44 VI. One writes, that "Other friends remain,” That loss is common would not make O father, wheresoe'er thou be, Who pledgest now thy gallant son; A shot, ere half thy draught be done, Hath still'd the life that beat from thee. O mother, praying God will save Ye know no more than I who wrought Expecting still his advent home; O somewhere, meek unconscious dove, For now her father's chimney glows And thinking "this will please him best," She takes a riband or a rose; For he will see them on to-night; And with the thought her colour burns; Once more to set a ringlet right; And, even when she turn'd, the curse O what to her shall be the end? And what to me remains of good? To her, perpetual maidenhood, And unto me no second friend. VII. Dark house, by which once more I stand Doors, where my heart was used to beat So quickly, waiting for a hand, A hand that can be clasp'd no more,— He is not here; but far away VIII. A happy lover who has come To look on her that loves him well, Who 'lights and rings the gateway bell, And learns her gone and far from home; He saddens, all the magic light Dies off at once from bower and hall, And all the place is dark, and all The chambers emptied of delight: So find I every pleasant spot In which we two were wont to meet, The field, the chamber, and the street, For all is dark where thou art not. Yet as that other, wandering there Fair ship, that from the Italian shore With my lost Arthur's loved remains. Spread thy full wings, and waft him o'er. |