Later Poems Part 20

Peace

The sleeping tarn is dark Below the wooded hill.

Save for its homing sounds, The twilit world grows still.

And I am left to muse In grave-eyed mystery, And watch the stars come out As sandalled dusk goes by.

And now the light is gone, The drowsy murmurs cease, And through the still unknown I wonder whence comes peace.

Then softly falls the word Of one beyond a name, "Peace only comes to him Who guards his life from shame,--

"Who gives his heart to love, And holding truth for guide, Girds him with fearless strength, That freedom may abide."

The Old Gray Wall

Time out of mind I have stood Fronting the frost and the sun, That the dream of the world might endure, And the goodly will be done.

Did the hand of the builder guess, As he laid me stone by stone, A heart in the granite lurked, Patient and fond as his own?

Lovers have leaned on me Under the summer moon, And mowers laughed in my shade In the harvest heat at noon.

Children roving the fields With early flowers in spring, Old men turning to look, When they heard a bluebird sing,

Have seen me a thousand times Standing here in the sun, Yet never a moment dreamed Whose likeness they gazed upon.

Ah, when will ye understand, Mortals who strive and plod,-- Who rests on this old gray wall Lays a hand on the shoulder of G.o.d!

Te Deum

If I could paint you the autumn color, the melting glow upon all things laid, The violet haze of Indian summer, before its splendor begins to fade, When scarlet has reached its breathless moment, and gold the hush of its glory now, That were a mightier craft than t.i.tian's, the heart to lift and the head to bow.

I should be lord of a world of rapture, master of magic and gladness, too,-- The touch of wonder transcending science, the solace escaping from line and hue; I would reveal through tint and texture the very soul of this earth of ours, Forever yearning through boundless beauty to exalt the spirit with all her powers.

See where it lies by the lake this morning, our autumn hillside of hardwood trees, A masterpiece of the mighty painter who works in the primal mysteries.

A living tapestry, rich and glowing with blended marvels, vermilion and dun, Hung out for the pageant of time that pa.s.ses along an avenue of the sun!

The crown of the ash is tinged with purple, the hickory leaves are Etruscan gold, And the tulip-tree lifts yellow banners against the blue for a signal bold; The oaks in crimson cohorts stand, a myriad sumach torches ma.s.s In festal pomp and victorious pride, when the vision of spring is brought to pa.s.s.

Down from the line of the sh.o.r.e's deep shadows another and softer picture lies, As if the soul of the lake in slumber should harbor a dream of paradise,-- Pa.s.sive and blurred and unsubstantial, lulling the sense and luring the mind With the spell of an empty fairy world, where sinew and sap are left behind.

So men dream of a far-off heaven of power and knowledge and endless joy, Asleep to the moment's fine elation, dull to the day's divine employ, Musing over a phantom image, born of fantastic hope and fear, Of the very happiness life engenders and earth provides--our privilege here.

Dare we dispel a single transport, neglect the worth that is here and now, Yet dream of enjoying its shadowy semblance in the by-and-by somewhere, somehow?

I heard the wind on the hillside whisper, "They ill prepare for a journey hence Who waste the senses and starve the spirit in a world all made for spirit and sense.

"Is the full stream fed from a stifled source, or the ripe fruit filled from a blighted flower?

Are not the brook and the blossom greatened through many a busy beatified hour?

Not in the shadow but in the substance, plastic and potent at our command, Are all the wisdom and gladness of heart; this is the kingdom of heaven at hand."

So I will pa.s.s through the lovely world, and partake of beauty to feed my soul.

With earth my domain and growth my portion, how should I sue for a further dole?

In the lift I feel of immortal rapture, in the flying glimpse I gain of truth, Released is the pa.s.sion that sought perfection, a.s.suaged the ardor of dreamful youth.

The patience of time shall teach me courage, the strength of the sun shall lend me poise.

I would give thanks for the autumn glory, for the teaching of earth and all her joys.

Her fine fruition shall well suffice me; the air shall stir in my veins like wine; While the moment waits and the wonder deepens, my life shall merge with the life divine.

In October

Now come the rosy dogwoods, The golden tulip-tree, And the scarlet yellow maple, To make a day for me.

The ash-trees on the ridges, The alders in the swamp, Put on their red and purple To join the autumn pomp.

The woodbine hangs her crimson Along the pasture wall, And all the bannered sumacs Have heard the frosty call.

Who then so dead to valor As not to raise a cheer, When all the woods are marching In triumph of the year?

By Still Waters

"_He leadeth me beside the still waters; He restoreth my soul._"

"My tent stands in a garden Of aster and goldenrod, Tilled by the rain and the suns.h.i.+ne, And sown by the hand of G.o.d,-- An old New England pasture Abandoned to peace and time, And by the magic of beauty Reclaimed to the sublime.

About it are golden woodlands Of tulip and hickory; On the open ridge behind it You may mount to a glimpse of sea,-- The far-off, blue, Homeric Rim of the world's great s.h.i.+eld, A border of boundless glamor For the soul's familiar field.

In purple and gray-wrought lichen The boulders lie in the sun; Along its gra.s.sy footpath The white-tailed rabbits run.

The crickets work and chirrup Through the still afternoon; And the owl calls from the hillside Under the frosty moon.

The odorous wild grape clambers Over the tumbling wall, And through the autumnal quiet The chestnuts open and fall.

Sharing time's freshness and fragrance, Part of the earth's great soul, Here man's spirit may ripen To wisdom serene and whole.

Shall we not grow with the asters-- Never reluctant nor sad, Not counting the cost of being, Living to dare and be glad?

Shall we not lift with the crickets A chorus of ready cheer, Braving the frost of oblivion, Quick to be happy here?