As earthward the Eternal from His throne
Gazed on His offspring earnestly and long
To know if any sought Him-found not one,
So o'er mankind this feebler eye hath hung
Wistful and sad and burning Searching around, within,
And through the grievous file of ages gone,
My aching vision yearning
In scene of curse and sin
Some purity of man to rest upon!
So flew the bird of sorrow and of love
Forth from her sanctuary in the ark,
With gentle eye strained anxiously above
The weary waste of waters wild and dark,
Dread depths of devastation
Wrapping with sullen shroud
Foul earth, whose guilt the wrathful heavens reprove-
Flew, in her desolation,
Restless above the flood,
Till homeward to the ark fluttered the dove!
Not so, alas! the brood of natural birth,
In sin conceived and cankered from the womb:
Once, like the raven, kindred with the dearth-
That evil spirit flapping through the gloom
Guided by vile attraction
Unto congenial rest
On the stale carrion floating o'er the earth-
Sin's ghastly satisfaction
Sated my filthy breast
Amid the wrath, lust, misery, and mirth!
Anon my quickened spirit, purified,
Forth from the Saviour's bosom like the dove
Flew with glad tidings o'er earth's troubled tide,
Expectant messenger of peace and love:
Found but rebuff, rejection,
Lewd man's imperious jeer-
Wedded to vanity in the bonds of pride,
With mine own heart's defection,
Her sin and legal fear-
Then to God's boson fled back terrified!
Vanish vain arts that flatter and allure,
That travesty the tragedy of life,
Tuning to ditties of the troubadour
The raging fury of man's covetous strife!
Ye bards and minstrels singing,
Ye weary the ear of God-
Piping to pride and glossing lusts impure!
Earth's cries to heaven are ringing
For wrath's avenging rod!
Think ye forever God's patience will endure?
Genius, thou spirit fallen, wouldst thou call
All things to pause to embalm thy rank conceit?
Thy painted forms and chiseled figures pall!
The slime-worm lurketh in thy poesy sweet-
Be it Homer's bloody story
Of lusting gods and men,
The pomp of Milton o'er hell's pride and fall,
The passion, filth, vain-glory
Reeking from Shakespeare's pen!
Away! away! degenerates are ye all!
On Thee, Thou Son of man, on Thee alone
My fainting soul may rest her weary eye,
Lost in a Life of love whose pureness shone
From God's own Self-to such vile worms drawn nigh !
Here in our land of mourning,
O lowly Man of grief,
Thy spotless Radiancy from heaven's throne
Passing through hate and scorning
Reached depths 'beyond belief-
For the hard hearts who mocked Thee to atone!
To me dost Thou the rest of God disclose-
Crowning each circle of Thy ransomed host,
The stainless purity of Love's repose
Shall flow from Father, Son, and Holy Ghost:
With Thee shall I inherit
Thy filial joys and place
Whilst God the riches of His love bestows;
And by Thy power and Spirit
In Love's own perfect grace
The current of communion ceaseless flows!
Thou vast Infinitude of love and light,
Bosom of God, abyss of bliss divine,
In Thee I hide me from the pain and blight-
In Thee, my Rest, my Refuge, and my Shrine!
By love-chains nought can sever
Bound to Thy Godhead-breast,
Enshrined in Triune depths of pure delight,
With deepening joy forever
Profoundly shall I rest
While endless ages trace their blissful flight!
F. A.