AFTER PARTING.
O Love, O Death! how sweet,
How strange are ye! oh Parting! that dost stand
Between these twain, from touch of either hand—
One warm, one cold, thou winnest strength to meet
Thy hour and overcome it! Tenderness
And woe are twins! and may not deeply bless
Except together, when the tear one weeps
Falls in the golden cup the other keeps
Hid for this moment in his breast, unshown
Till needed most;
How strange are ye! oh Parting! that dost stand
Between these twain, from touch of either hand—
One warm, one cold, thou winnest strength to meet
Thy hour and overcome it! Tenderness
And woe are twins! and may not deeply bless
Except together, when the tear one weeps
Falls in the golden cup the other keeps
Hid for this moment in his breast, unshown
Till needed most;
When Love must leave its Own
Belovèd, loved unto the end, it broke
Its vase of costliest odours; though it spoke
Before as none have spoken, then its tone
Was fullest, clearest; breaking hearts have flown
To fasten on those words, "Be not afraid!"
And aching spirits, desolate, have grown
Like limpets to this Rock, "now have I prayed
The Father for you, and ye are not lone,—
I leave you not uncomforted." E'en so
Full oft since then hath Parting made us know
A Heavenly Presence; while we broke our bread
With bitter herbs, the words were not our own
That then we spoke, and we were comforted.
Belovèd, loved unto the end, it broke
Its vase of costliest odours; though it spoke
Before as none have spoken, then its tone
Was fullest, clearest; breaking hearts have flown
To fasten on those words, "Be not afraid!"
And aching spirits, desolate, have grown
Like limpets to this Rock, "now have I prayed
The Father for you, and ye are not lone,—
I leave you not uncomforted." E'en so
Full oft since then hath Parting made us know
A Heavenly Presence; while we broke our bread
With bitter herbs, the words were not our own
That then we spoke, and we were comforted.
For there is concentration in strong pain
That draws the soul together; it can hold
Its breath beneath the waves, and like a bold
Strong diver, desperate will snatch and gain
What calmer moments fail of. One of old
Spake, looking on his judges, "Soon I die;
So gather up my words that are not vain,—
The lip of Death turns speech to prophecy."
So hath the parting hour its agony
Of inspiration:
That draws the soul together; it can hold
Its breath beneath the waves, and like a bold
Strong diver, desperate will snatch and gain
What calmer moments fail of. One of old
Spake, looking on his judges, "Soon I die;
So gather up my words that are not vain,—
The lip of Death turns speech to prophecy."
So hath the parting hour its agony
Of inspiration:
All our path with dew
Was drenched that autumn morning; like a day
Begun too soon, our Life before us lay
In early chillness,—hard to live it through
Without each other! slow our footsteps drew,
And slower, to our bourne, because they knew
They measured off the moments we must spend
Together; we were silent—friend to friend
Was near as yet; at last thou spakest low
My name, and whispered, "Bless me ere I go!"
Oh, then I sadly thought, but did not speak:
How may I bless thee, I, oft proved so weak,
So poor in blessing that I can but love,
Nor even bless through loving? I will seek
For that I cannot give. "May One above,
Belovèd, love thee, keep thee, bless thee still!"
I spake these words in sadness, but a flame
Did sweep them from my lips; the next that came
Was even as a Message,—"and He will!"
Was drenched that autumn morning; like a day
Begun too soon, our Life before us lay
In early chillness,—hard to live it through
Without each other! slow our footsteps drew,
And slower, to our bourne, because they knew
They measured off the moments we must spend
Together; we were silent—friend to friend
Was near as yet; at last thou spakest low
My name, and whispered, "Bless me ere I go!"
Oh, then I sadly thought, but did not speak:
How may I bless thee, I, oft proved so weak,
So poor in blessing that I can but love,
Nor even bless through loving? I will seek
For that I cannot give. "May One above,
Belovèd, love thee, keep thee, bless thee still!"
I spake these words in sadness, but a flame
Did sweep them from my lips; the next that came
Was even as a Message,—"and He will!"