Writing on pitiless heavens one pitying name;
And 'neath the shadow of the dread eclipse
It shines on dying eyes and pallid lips.
"TO REST FROM WEARY WORK"
To rest from weary work one day of seven;
One day to turn our backs upon the world,
Its soil wash from us, and strive on to Heaven—
Whereto we daily climb, but quick are hurled
Down to the pit of human pride and sin.
Help me, ye powers celestial! to come nigh;
Ah, let me catch one little glimpse within
The heavenly city, lest my spirit die.
These be my guides, my messengers, my friends:
Books of wise poets; the musician's art;
The ocean whose deep music never ends;
The silence of the forest's shadowy heart;
Not less the brooding organ's solemn blare,
And kneeling multitudes' low-murmuring prayer.
PART III
RECOGNITION
I
In darkness of the visionary night
This I beheld: Wide space and therein God,
God who in dual nature doth abide—
Love, and the Loved One, Power and Beauty's self;
Him even the spirit's eye might not transfix
But sidelong gazed, fainting before the light.
And forth from God did come,—with dreadful thrill,
And starry music like to million wires
