earth!—The changes wroughtType our own change from passion into thought.
What though our path at every step is strewn
With leaves that shadow'd in the summer noon;
Through the clear space more vigorous comes the air,
And the star pierces where the branch is bare.
What though the birds desert the chiller light;
To brighter climes the wiser speed their flight.
So happy Souls at will expand the wing,
And, trusting Heaven, re-settle into Spring.
An old man sat beneath the yellowing beech,
Vow'd to the Cross, and wise the Word to teach.
A patriarch priest, from earth's worst tempters pure,
Gold and Ambition!—sainted and obscure!
Before his knee (the Gospel in his hands,
And sunshine at his heart), a youthful listener stands!
The old man spoke of Christ—of Him who bore }
Our form, our woes;—that man might evermore }
In succouring woe-worn man, the God, made Man, adore! }
"My child," he said, "in the far-heathen days,
Hope was a dream, Belief an endless maze;
The wise perplex'd, yet still with glimpse sublime
Of ports dim-looming o'er the seas of Time
Guess'd Him unworshipp'd yet—the Power above
Or Dorian Phœbus, or Pelasgic Jove!
Guess'd the far realm, not won by Charon's oar
Not the pale joys the brave who gain abhor;
No cold Elysium where the very Blest
Envy the living and deplore the rest;[W] Where ev'n the spirit, as the form, a ghost, Dreams back life's conflicts on the shadowy coast, Hears but the clashing steel, the armëd train, And waves the airy spear, and murders hosts again! More just the prescience of the eternal goal, Which gleam'd 'mid Cyprian shades, on Zeno's soul, Or shone to Plato in the lonely cave; God in all space, and life in every grave! Wise lore and high—but for the few conceived; By schools discuss'd, but not by crowds believed. The angel-ladder touch'd the heavenly steep, But at its foot the patriarchs did but sleep; They did not preach to nations 'Lo your God;' No thousands follow'd where their footsteps trod; Not to the fisherman they said 'Arise!' Not to the lowly they reveal'd the skies;— Aloof and lone their shining course they ran Like stars too high to gild the world of man:[X] Then, not for schools—but for the human kind— The uncultured reason, the unletter'd mind; The poor, the oppress'd, the labourer, and the slave, God said, 'Be light!'—And light was on the Grave! No more alone to sage and hero given, Ope for all life the impartial Gates of Heaven! Enough hath Wisdom dream'd, and Reason err'd, All they would seek is found!—O'er Nature sleeps the Word!
"Thou ask'st why Christ, so lenient to the deed, So sternly claims the faith which founds the creed; Because, reposed in faith the soul has calm; The hope a haven, and the wound a balm; Because the light, dim seen in Reason's Dream, On all alike, through faith alone, could stream. God will'd support to Weakness, joy to Grief, And so descended from his throne—Belief! Nor this alone—Have faith in things above, The unseen Beautiful of Heavenly Love; And from that faith what virtues have their birth, What spiritual meanings gird, like air, the Earth! A deeper thought inspires the musing sage! To youth what visions—what delights to age! A loftier genius wakens in the world, To starrier heights more vigorous wings unfurl'd. No more the outward senses reign alone, The soul of Nature glides into our own. To reason less is to imagine more; They most aspire who meekly most adore!
"Therefore the God-like Comforter's decree—
'His sins be loosen'd who hath faith in me.'
Therefore he shunn'd the cavils of the wise,
And made no schools the threshold of the skies:
Therefore he taught no Pharisee to preach
His Word—the simple let the simple teach.
Upon the infant on his knee he smiled,
And said to Wisdom, 'Be once more a child!'"
The boughs behind the old man gently stirr'd,
By one unseen those Gospel accents heard;
Before the preacher bow'd the pilgrim's head:
"Heaven to this bourne my rescued steps hath led,
Grieving, perplex'd—benighted, yet with dim
Hopes in God's justice—be my guide to Him!
In vain made man, I mourn and err!—restore
Childhood's pure soul, and ready trust, once more!"
The old man on the stranger gazed;—unto
The stranger's side the young disciple drew,
And gently clasp'd his hand;—and on the three
The western sun shone still and smilingly;
But, round—behind them—dark and lengthening lay
The massive shadow of the closing day.
"See," said the preacher, "Darkness hurries on,
But Man, toil-wearied, grieves not for the Sun;
He knows the light that leaves him shall return,
And hails the night because he trusts the morn!
Believe in God as in the Sun—and, lo!
Along thy soul, morn's youth restored shall glow!
As rests the earth, so rest, O troubled heart,
Rest, till the burthen of the cloud depart;
Rest, till the gradual veil, from Heaven withdrawn,
Renews thy freshness as it yields the dawn!"
Behold the storm-beat wanderer in repose!
He lists the sounds at which the Heavens unclose,
Gleam, through expanding bars, the angel-wings,
And floats the music borne from seraph-strings.
Holy the oldest creed which Nature gives,
Proclaiming God where'er Creation lives;
