Poems from the Inner Life. Doten Lizzie
as it seems, and the veil of Materiality which hides it from our view, by hopeful and untiring aspiration can be rent in twain. We only need listen earnestly and attentively, and we shall soon learn to keep step in the grand march of Life to the music of the upper spheres. As a popular author has beautifully said, “Silence is vocal, if we listen well.” With a sublime accord, the great anthem of the Infinite “rolls and resounds” through the Universe, and whosoever will, can listen to that harmony, till all special and particular discords shall die out from the “Inner Life,” and the Heaven of the celestial intelligences shall blend with the “Heaven within,” in perfect unison!
POEMS
FROM
THE INNER LIFE.
PART I.
THE PRAYER OF THE SORROWING.
“And there appeared an angel unto him from heaven strengthening him.”
God! hear my prayer!
Thou who hast poured the essence of thy life
Into this urn, this feeble urn of clay;
Thou who amid the tempest’s gloom and strife
Art the lone star that guides me on my way;
When my crushed heart, by constant striving torn,
Flies shuddering from its own impurity,
And my faint spirit, by its sorrows worn,
Turns with a cry of anguish unto thee—
Hear me, O God! my God!
O, this strange mingling in of Life and Death,
Of Soul and Substance! Let me comprehend
The hidden secret of life’s fleeting breath,
My being’s destiny, its aim and end.
Show me the impetus that urged me forth,
Upon my lone and burning pathway driven;
The secret force that binds me down to earth,
While my sad spirit yearns for home and heaven—
Hear me, O God! my God!
The ruby life-drops from my heart are wrung,
By the deep conflict of my soul in prayer;
The words lie burning on my feeble tongue;
Aid me, O Father! let me not despair.
Save, Lord! I perish! Save me, ere I die!
My rebel spirit mocks at thy control—
The raging billows rise to drown my cry;
The floods of anguish overwhelm my soul—
Hear me, O God! my God!
Peace! peace! O, wilful, wayward heart, be still!
For, lo! the messenger of God is near;
Bow down submissive to the Father’s will,
In “perfect love” that “casteth out all fear.”
O, pitying Spirit from the home above!
No longer shall my chastened heart rebel;
Fold me, O fold me in thine arms of love!
I know my Father “doeth all things well;”
I will not doubt his changeless love again.
Amen! My heart repeats, Amen!
THE SONG OF TRUTH.
From the unseen throne of the Great Unknown,
From the Soul of All, I came;
Not with the rock of the earthquake’s shock,
And not with the wasting flame.
But silent and deep is my onward sweep,
Through the depths of the boundless sky;
I stand sublime, through the lapse of time,
And where God is, there am I.
In the early years, when the youthful spheres,
From the depths of Chaos sprung,
When the heavens grew bright with the new-born light,
And the stars in chorus sung—
To that holy sound, through the space profound,
’Mid their glittering ranks I trod;
For I am a part of the Central Heart,
Co-equal and one with God.
The world is my child. Though wilful and wild,
Yet I know that she loves me still,
For she thinks I fled with her holy dead,
Because of her stubborn will;
And she weeps at night, when the angels light
Their watch-fires over the sky,
Like a maid o’er the grave of her loved and brave;
But the Truth can never die.
One by one, like sparks from the sun, I have counted the souls that came From the hand Divine;—all, all are mine, And I call them by my name. One by one, like sparks to the sun, I shall see them all return; Though tempest-tost, yet they are not lost, And not one shall cease to burn.
I only speak to the lowly and meek,
To the simple and child-like heart,
But I leave the proud to their glittering shroud,
And the tricks of their cunning art.
Like a white-winged dove from the home of love,
Through the airy space untrod,
I come at the cry which is heard on high—
“Hear me, O God! my God!”
THE EMBARKATION.
“So they left that goodly and pleasant city, which had been their resting-place near twelve years. But they knew they were pilgrims, and looked not much to those things; but lifted their eyes to heaven, their dearest country, and quieted their spirits.”—E. Winslow.
The band of Pilgrim exiles in tearful silence stood,
While thus outspake, in parting, John Robinson the good:
“Fare thee well, my brave Miles Standish! thou hast a trusty sword,
But not with carnal weapons shalt thou glorify the Lord.
Fare thee well, good Elder Brewster! thou art a man of prayer;
Commend the flock I give thee to the holy Shepherd’s care.
And thou, belovéd Carver, what shall I say to thee?
I have need, in this my sorrow, that thou shouldst comfort me.
In the furnace of affliction must all be sharply tried;
But nought prevails against us, if the Lord be on our side.
Farewell, farewell,